Front Cover
 King London
 Shortening the baby
 Elizabeth's concert
 Juan and Juanita
 The reason why
 Winning a commission
 Animal invaders
 Calling them up
 The child-princess Charlotte
 The pupil of Cimabue
 The song of the mosquito - Sheridan...
 Jenny's boarding-house
 The story of a lost dog
 Janie's rainbow
 The brownies and the bees
 Ready for business; or, Choosing...
 Roses red
 Rather crowded
 Editorial notes
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00186
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Portion of title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subjects / Keywords: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
serial   ( sobekcm )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
System ID: UF00065513:00186
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Page 562
        Page 563
    King London
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
        Page 567
        Page 568
        Page 569
        Page 570
        Page 571
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
        Page 575
    Shortening the baby
        Page 576
        Page 577
    Elizabeth's concert
        Page 578
        Page 579
        Page 580
        Page 581
        Page 582
        Page 583
    Juan and Juanita
        Page 584
        Page 585
        Page 586
        Page 587
    The reason why
        Page 588
    Winning a commission
        Page 589
        Page 590
        Page 591
        Page 592
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
    Animal invaders
        Page 596
        Page 597
        Page 598
    Calling them up
        Page 599
    The child-princess Charlotte
        Page 600
        Page 601
        Page 602
    The pupil of Cimabue
        Page 603
    The song of the mosquito - Sheridan in the valley
        Page 604
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
        Page 608
        Page 609
        Page 610
        Page 611
    Jenny's boarding-house
        Page 612
        Page 613
        Page 614
        Page 615
        Page 616
        Page 617
        Page 618
        Page 619
    The story of a lost dog
        Page 620
        Page 621
        Page 622
    Janie's rainbow
        Page 623
    The brownies and the bees
        Page 624
        Page 625
        Page 626
    Ready for business; or, Choosing an occupation
        Page 627
        Page 628
        Page 629
    Roses red
        Page 630
    Rather crowded
        Page 631
        Page 632
        Page 633
    Editorial notes
        Page 634
        Page 635
    The letter-box
        Page 636
        Page 637
        Page 638
    The riddle-box
        Page 639
        Page 640
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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VOL. XIV. JUNE, 1887. No. 8.

[Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY CO.]



O JUNE delicious month of June !
When winds and birds all sing in tune;
When in the meadows swarm the bees
And hum their drowsy melodies
While pillaging the buttercup,
To store the golden honey up;
O June! the month of bluest skies,
Dear to the pilgrim butterflies,
Who seem gay-colored leaves astray,
Blown down the tides of amber day;
O June! the month of merry song,
Of shadow brief, of sunshine long;
All things on earth love you the best,-
The bird who carols near his nest;
The wind that wakes and, singing, blows
The spicy perfume of the rose;
And bee, who sounds his muffled horn
To celebrate the dewy morn;
And even all the stars above
At night are happier for love,
As if the mellow notes of mirth
*Were wafted to them from the earth.
0 June! such music haunts your name;
With you the summer's chorus came!




IN the visit which we are about to make to the
largest and richest civilized city in the world, I will
mention at the outset that if any one were to
undertake to walk one way only through all the
streets of London, he would be obliged to go a
distance of two thousand six hundred miles, or as
far as it is across the American continent from
New York to San Francisco. This will give an
idea of what would have to be done in order to see
even the greater part of London.
In our approach to this city, as well as in our
rambles through its streets, we shall not be struck
so much by its splendid and imposing appearance
as by its immensity. Go where we may, there
seems to be no end to the town. It is fourteen
miles one way, and eight miles the other, and con-
tains a population of nearly four million people,
which is greater, indeed, than that of Switzerland
or the kingdoms of Denmark and Greece com-
bined. We are told on good authority that there
are more Scotchmen in London than in Edinburgh,
more Irishmen than in Dublin, and more Jews
than in Palestine, with foreigners from all parts of
the world, including a great number of Americans.
Yet there are so many Englishmen in London,
that one is not likely to notice the presence of
these people of other nations.
This vast body of citizens, some so rich that they
never can count their money, and some so poor
that they never have any to count, eat every year
four hundred thousand oxen, one and a half
million sheep, eight million chickens and game
birds, not to speak of calves, hogs, and different
kinds of fish. They consume five hundred million
oysters, which, although it seems like a large
number, would only give, if equally divided among
all the people, one oyster every third day to each
person, There ate three hundred thousand serv-
ants in London, enough people to make a large
city; but as this gives only one servant to each
dozen citizens, it is quite evident that a great
many of the people must wait on themselves.
Things are very unequally divided in London;
and I have no doubt that instead of there being
one servant to twelve persons, some of the rich
lords and ladies have twelve servants apiece.
There are many other things of this kind which
I might tell you, and which would help to give you
an idea of the vastness and wealth of this great

center of the world's commerce, into whose port
twenty thousand vessels enter annually; while
land is so valuable that a single acre of it has been
sold for four and a half million dollars. 'But we
must now proceed to see London for ourselves;
and we shall begin at the great church of St.
Paul's, which is in one of the most busy and
crowded portions of the city.
I must say here that a particular portion of
London is known as the City." Although it is
comparatively but a small part of the metropolis,
it is the center of business, and contains the great
mercantile houses, the Bank of England, the Ex-
change, the General Post-Office, the courts of jus-
tice, the great newspaper offices, and the famous
London Docks. The City" is presided over by
the Lord Mayor, that personage of whom you have
read so much, and who has nothing at all to do
with the rest of London.
In the midst of this busy, noisy, and crowded
section stands St. Paul's, with its dome high above
everything. When it was new and its marble was
white, this church must have been very handsome,
viewed from the outside; but now it is a dingy
gray, and in some places quite black, on account
of the coal-smoke which is continually settling
down upon London, making itthe grimiest, dingi-
est city in the world. It is everywhere the same.
The splendid white marble buildings are now gray
and black; the bricks of which most of the houses
are built are generally the color of an old ham;
and if you see a bright or fresh-looking house in
London, you may be sure that it has very recently
been painted or built. If you want to know the
reason of this, we will go up to the top of the
dome of St. Paul's, from which we can look down
upon a great part of London.
As we gaze upon the vast city stretching out far
on every side, one of the first things which will at-
tract our attention will be the amazing number of
chimney-pots which stand up from the roof of every
building, large and small. There seem to be mill-
ions of them, some earthenware and some iron,
some of one shape and some of another, some twist-
ed, and some straight; but three or four, and
often more, on every chimney. From all these
chimney-pots, during cold or cool weather, and
from a great many of them during the whole of the
year, rise up little curls or big curls of the dark




heavy smoke which --- -
comes from the soft
coal generally burned
in London. This
smoke, which is oft- --
en filled with little --
specks of soot, rises -
a short distance into -_. _, _.
the air and then :.
gently settles down .-
to blacken and be- | l-. .
grime the city. -- --
At certain seasons, ,', -
when the air is heavy -i- 7 .
with moisture, this -
smoke helps to form -
a fog quite different j-j^ ^igj1')I ,
irom those to which ~_f,'i .. _' i "' ' -- f- '- --
people in other cities [',-".. -'' :.,.--- '- --"
are accustomed. It |I a] 1 -;:
is so thick and dark ''-.-' =

Srun into one another; the street lamps
shed a sickly light for only a yard or
.. two around; windows are closed and
i'.. ', -- houses are lighted at midday as if it
S' were midnight; and until the fog rises,
ml ithe out-door life of London comes very
-- nearly to a full stop. To see one of
these fogs may do very well for a nov-
]' '- '- i elty, but we shall try not to be in Lon-
"- don at the season when they generally
1n 1.- -- --I = occur, which is late autumn and winter.
'- '-.-.St. Paul's is the largest Protestant
"-. church in the world; and when we get
I'IF- inside of it and stand under the great
dome, we shall be apt to think that it
is a bare-looking place, and rather too
'big. It is adorned with a great many
Fine groups of statuary in memory of
,i English soldiers and heroes; but these
S- I 1 do not help much to brighten up its
1 i If I I. lil cold and dull interior. St. Peter's at
Rome is twice as large, but is a much
-- more cheerful place.
-It seems rather odd to come to a
.-- -churchyard to buy things, but St.
_- -'-_-- Paul's Churchyard is one of the great
I -" .11- . resorts of London shoppers. It is not
S- now really a churchyard, but is a street
which runs entirely around the great
PAUCS CATHEDRAL, LONDON. (FRONT VEW.) church, and is filled with shops. Here
that the day seems like night. People can not find we can stroll among the crowds of people on the
their way in the streets; vehicles must stand still or sidewalk, and on one side look upon windows


filled with everything that any one would want to
buy, and on the other side gaze up at the magnifi-
cent cathedral which is the pride of London.
It will interest us very much in going about Lon-
don to meet with many streets and places which,
although we now see them for the first time, seem
to us like old acquaintances. From one corner of
St. Paul's Churchyard is the lively street called
Cheapside, from which John Gilpin started on his
famous ride.
From the front of St. Paul's runs the street called
Ludgate Hill, just as busy as it can be, and crowded

of the Lord Mayor. Even now, Queen Victoria
does not pass the monument which stands in the
place of the old Temple Bar without the formal
consent of the Lord Mayor.
Near this place rises the magnificent building
recently erected for the London Law Courts. It
covers a whole block, and, with its towers and tur-
rets and peaked roofs, resembles a vast Norman
We now find ourselves in that street, well
known to readers of English books, called the
Strand, where the shops, the people, and the


with omnibuses, cabs, wagons, and people. A
little farther on, this same street becomes Fleet
Street, where we find many book shops and print-
ing establishments, which always make us think of
Dr. Johnson, because he was so fond of this street.
Near it he wrote his great dictionary, and lived
and died. At the end of Fleet Street used to
stand Temple Bar, which was an archway across
the street, ornamented with iron spikes on which
the heads of executed traitors used to be stuck.
This celebrated gateway was one of the en-
trances to the city, and the King of England had
no right to go through it unless he had permission

omnibuses seem to increase in number. Here we
shall see in the windows all manner of "useful
things; and, indeed, in our rambles through Lon-
don we shall discover that, although there are
many shop-windows filled with ornamental objects,
the commodities offered for sale are generally
things of real use,- to wear, to travel with, to eat,
to read, or to make of some manner of use. In
Paris there are many more beautiful objects, but
they do not so much seem to be the things we
really need. The Strand ends at Charing Cross,
where we may see a model of an old-time cross
which used to stand here. Charing Cross is one



i887.] KING LONDON. 567

of the great centers of London life. It seems as if
most of the citizens make it their business to come
here at least once a day. Several lines of omni-
buses start from this point; here are a great rail-
way station and an immense hotel; little streets
and big streets run off in every direction; cabs,
men, boys, women, and wagons do the same thing;
and it would be almost impossible to cross from one
side to the other, were it not for a little curbed
space like an island in the middle of the street, on
which we can rest when we get half way over, and
wait for a chance to cross the other half of the
street. Nearly all the crowded streets of London,
as well as those of Paris, are provided with these
little central refuges for foot-passengers. All the
vehicles going up the street pass on one side of these
islands, while those going down pass on the other;
so that we only have to look in one direction for
horses' heads when we are actually in the street.
But we must remember that in England the law
obliges vehicles to keep to the left, while in France
they turn to the right, as with us.
Close to Charing Cross is Trafalgar Square, a
fine open space with a fountain, and a column to
Lord Nelson; and facing this square we see the
pillars and the portico of the National Gallery.
The admirable collection of paintings in this build-
ing is not nearly so large as those we have seen
in Paris and Italy; but it will greatly interest' us
in two ways. It will not only be refreshing to see
pictures by English painters on English subjects,
as well as many very fine paintings by Continental
masters, but we shall be surprised, and very much
pleased, continually to meet with the originals of
engravings on steel and wood with which we have
been familiar all our lives. Here are Landseer's
dogs and horses, the children of Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds and of Sir Thomas Lawrence, Wilkie's vil-
lage scenes, and many other paintings which we
shall recognize the moment our eyes fall upon them.
Returning across Trafalgar Square, we con-
tinue our walk, and find that the Strand is now
changed into a broad street, called Whitehall,
in which are situated many of the governmental
and public offices, such as the Treasury, the War
Office, and so on. One of these buildings belongs
to the Horse Guards, a very fine body of English
cavalry, and here we shall see something interest-
ing. On each side of a broad gateway is a little
house, or shed, with its front entirely open to the
sidewalk; and in each of these houses is a soldier
on horseback. This soldier is dressed in a splen-
did scarlet coat, a steel helmet with a long plume,
and high-topped boots. The horse is coal-black,
which is the regulation color of the Horse Guards'
horses. The peculiarity of this pair of men and
horses is that, while they are stationed here on

guard, they never move; the man sits as if he
were carved in stone; and although I have no
doubt he winks, he does it so that nobody notices
it, while the horse is almost as motionless as one
of the bronze horses of St. Mark's in Venice.
He neither switches his tail, nods his head, nor
stamps his feet. He has been trained to do
nothing but think while he stands in this little
house, and that is all he does. Nearly all visitors
to London come to see these two statue-like men
and horses at the entrance to the Horse Guards.
At certain hours these soldiers are relieved and
their places supplied by others, and there is gener-
ally a little crowd assembled to witness this ma-
neuver. A tall sergeant comes out into the street,
turns around, and faces the two horsemen. At his
word of command, each soldier rides out of his
little house, then they turn around squarely and
ride toward each other, then they turn again, and
side by side ride through the gate into the court-
yard. It now appears as if they have works inside
of them and are moved by machinery, so exactly
do they keep time with each other in every motion.
At the word of command they stop, each man lifts
up his right leg, throws it over the back of his
horse, and drops it to the ground so that the two
boots tap the pavement at the same instant. Then
each left foot is drawn from the stirrup, and each
man stands up and leads away his horse, while
two other guardsmen come out to take their places
in the little houses, and stand motionless for a
Continuing on our course, we find that White-
hall is changed to Parliament street, and leads us
to Westminster Abbey and the splendid Houses
of Parliament, on the river bank. We all have
heard so much of Westminster Abbey, that grand
old burial-place of Englishmen of fame, that it will
scarcely strike us as entirely novel; but I doubt if
any of us have formed an idea of the lofty beauty
of its pillars and arched ceiling, and the extent
and number of its recesses and chapels crowded
with monuments and relics of the past.
Of course, we shall go first to the Poets' Corner,
where so many literary men lie buried, and where
there are so many monuments to those who are
buried elsewhere. Among these we shall be glad
to see the bust of our own Longfellow, the only
person not an Englishman who has a monument
here. We shall spend hours in Westminster Ab-
bey and in its chapels, where there are so many
interesting memorials and tombs of old-time kings
and queens, knights and crusaders; and then,
having made up our minds that on the very next
Sunday we will come here to church, we shall go
out of a side door into a queer little street, where,
in a secluded corner, are some quaint little houses




with the names of "Mr. John This," and "Mr.
Thomas That," and "Mr. George The-other-
thing on their front gates; and, after walking a
short distance, we shall find ourselves at the en-
trance to the Houses of Parliament.
It is only on Saturdays that these great build-
ings can be visited, and then we must have per-
mits from the Lord Chamberlain, whose office is
around a corner of the edifice. We can wander

as we please through
all the public parts
of the building, for
_- Parliament is never
in session on Satur-
days, and we shall
see splendid and
handsome halls and
corridors, including
S- the Queen's rob-
ing-room, with her
throne on one side
of it, although she
seldom or never sits
there, and the mag-
nificent House of
Lords, with three
thrones at one end
of it, which were
originally intended
for the Queen, her
husband, Prince Al-
bert, and her oldest
son, the Prince of
Wales. There are
many more halls
and apartments, all
magnificently fitted
up and adorned with
rich carvings and
paintings, making
this a wonderfully
S grand and imposing
building. We shall
be surprised, how-
S.-' ever, when we see
the room intended
for the House of
-Commons, the real
4_ --- ~ governing power of
England. In these
immense Houses of
Parliament, cover-
Sing eight acres, and
containing eleven
hundred rooms and
QUARE. apartments, there is
for the House of
Commons only a room so small that, when all the
members are present, there is not accommodation
for them on the main floor, and many of them have
to stow themselves away in the gallery or wherever
they can find room. Adjoining this magnificent
building, and now really a part of it, is the famous
old Westminster Hall, a vast chamber capable of
holding a dozen Houses of Commons. This great
hall was built in its present form by Richard II.





Here the English Parliament used to meet, and
here state trials were held. Among the persons
condemned to death in this room were Charles I.,
William Wallace, the Scotch hero, and Guy
Fawkes. The lofty roof, formed of dark oaken
beams, is very peculiar, and in construction is one
of the finest roofs of its
kind in the world.
When we leave here,
we shall go out on one
of the bridges across the
Thames, and get a view
of the river front of the
Houses of Parliament,
with the great Victoria
Tower at one end, and
at the other the Clock
Tower, with four clock
faces, each of which is
twenty-three feet in di-
armeter; so that people
do not have to go very
close to see what time it
is. The large bell in ==
this tower weighs thir-
teen tons; and it re-
quires five hours to wind
up the striking part of
the clock.
We are now in the
western part of London,
which is the fashionable
quarter, where the lords
and ladies, and the rich
and grand people live,
and where the shops are. '
finer, the people better
dressed, and where there
are more private car-
riages than business wag-
ons. Among the fine
streets here are Pall Mall
(pronounced Pell Mell),
where we see on either
side of the street large
and handsome buildings ijI
belonging to the Lon-
don clubs; and Picca-
dilly, full of grand shops,
leading to the famous
Hyde Park. London
gentlemen consider a
walk down Piccadilly one
of the pleasantest things -
they can do, and there /'
are people who think
that there is not in the
VOL. XIV.-39.

world a street so attractive as this. It is cer-
tainly a pleasant promenade; and for a great part
of its length we have on one side the beautiful
trees and grass of Green Park, at the farther side
of which stands Buckingham Palace, the Queen's
London residence,




Hyde Park, with the adjoining Kensington Gar-
dens, is a very large inclosure with drives, grassy
lawns, and fine trees, and with a pretty river run-
ning through it. Near Hyde Park Corner, where
we enter, are some magnificent residences, among
which is Apsley House, belonging to the Duke of

is called the "London season." The carriages,
which are generally open, with spirited horses, and
liveried coachmen, some of whom wear powdered
wigs, drive up one side of the roadway and down
the other, keeping as close to one another as they
can get, and forming a great moving mass, which

* -- -


Wellington. One of the roads in Hyde Park is
called Rotten Row, and is devoted entirely to
horseback riding. There is nothing decayed about
this Row, and it is said that the place used to be
called Route du Roi, the Road of the King, and
it has gradually been corrupted into Rotten Row.
There are many proper names which the English
people pronounce very differently from the way in
which they are spelled: St. John, for instance, is
pronounced Singe-on, Beauchamp is Beecham;
and when they wish to mention the name Chol-
mondeley, they say Chumley, while Sevenoaks has
become Snooks.
From twelve to two o'clock we may see Rotten
Row filled with lady and gentlemen riders, trotting
or galloping up and down. But the finest sight of
Hyde Park begins about five o'clock in the after-
noon, when the carriages of the nobility and gentry
fill the long drive on the south side of the Park.
There is no place in the world where we can see so
many fine horses and carriages, so much fashion, so
much wealth, and so much aristocracy, in a com-
paratively small space, as in Hyde Park, between
five and seven o'clock in the afternoon, during what

it is very pleasant to gaze upon. Alohg the side-
walks are long rows of chairs which can be hired,
those with arms for four cents, and those-without
arms for two; and on these it is the delight of the
London people to sit and watch the show of hand-
some equipages, beautiful dresses, and high-born
faces. No cabs or public vehicles are allowed on
this drive, which is entirely devoted to private
When we go out of Hyde Park at its northeast
corner, we enter Oxford street, a wide and busy
thoroughfare, crowded with every kind of vehicle
and all sorts of foot-passengers. Crossing this is
Regent street, the most fashionable shopping-
street in London, where we find the finest stores,
and the handsomest displays in the windows.
This street is very wide, and the houses on each
side are nearly all of the same color, a pale yellow,
and are probably painted every year to keep them
We are now going back toward the city, and,
continuing through the lively scenes of Oxford
street, we perceive that after a time this great
thoroughfare changes into High Holborn; and




we may remember what Thomas Hood had to say
about a lost child in this street, when he wrote:
One day, as I was going by
That part of Holborn christened High,
I heard a loud and sudden cry
That chilled my very blood."
Then the street becomes Holborn Viaduct,
where, for about a quarter of a mile, it is built up
high across a deep depression in the city, making
a level line of street where there used to be two
steep hills. At one point there is a bridge where
we can look over the railing and see portions of
the city spread out below us. At one end of this
viaduct is the old church of St. Sepulchre, where
lies buried Captain John Smith, who, we will re-
member, would probably have been buried in Vir-
ginia, had it not been for the kindly intervention
of Pocahontas. And at the other end is the famous
prison of Newgate. Daniel Defoe,- author of Rob-
inson Crusoe,- Jack Sheppard, and William Penn
were imprisoned in Newgate; but the building

ing any hats, winter or summer, are frequently to
be met with in the picture-galleries and other
public places in London. It is now the intention
of the managers of this school to move it into the
In the very heart of the city, where we now are,
stands the great Bank of England. This building,
with one of its sides on Threadneedle street,
covers about four acres, but is only one story high.
It has no windows on the outside, through which
thieves might get in from the street, and light and
air are supplied by windows opening on inside courts.
This is one of the richest banks in the world; its
vaults often contain as much as a hundred million
dollars in gold, aid every night a small detach-
ment of soldiers from some regiment stationed in
the city is quartered- here to protect its treasures.
Each of the men receives a small sum from the
bank, and the officer-in command is provided with
a dinner for himself and any two friends he may
choose to invite. But at a certain hour the head-

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has been a great deal altered since -'
their times. The street here is called .; I. i. 1 .. 1, ', .
Newgate Street, and before very long
it merges into Cheapside, and we
find ourselves at the point from which we started. watchman of the bank comes around with the
Not far from Newgate is a much more cheerful great keys, to lock up the outer door with cere-
place, of which you all have read in ST. NICHO- monies that have been observed for generations,
LAS. This is Christ's Hospital, the home of the and the two friends must leave, whether they are
Blue Coat Boys, who, with their long coats, knee- ready to go or not.
breeches, and yellow stockings, and never wear- Opposite the Bank is the Mansion House, the


stately edifice in which the Lord Mayor lives.
Near by is the Royal Exchange, with a grand por-
tico, and a tall tower, on the top of which is a great

golden grasshopper, which some people may think
is intended to mean that the money made by the
hundreds and thousands of business-men who
crowd here during certain hours will skip away
from them if they are not careful; in reality it is
the crest of the original builder of the Exchange.
In this neighborhood also is the General Post-
Office, and the great Telegraph Building.
A good deal farther eastward than these, and
on the bank of the River Thames, which runs

through London as the Seine does through Paris,
stands the ancient and far-famed Tower of Lon-
don. This is not by any means a single tower,
but is a collection of strongly
fortified buildings surrounded
by a high and massive wall,
and is a veritable castle, or for-
tress, of the olden time, stand-
ing here in the crowded and
busy London of to-day. We
shall wander for a long time
through this gloomy old for-
tress and prison, now used as
an arsenal and barracks for
soldiers. Most of the ancient
buildings, towers, and walls are
still just as they used to be.
Here we shall see the Bloody
Tower, in which the two princes
were murderedby Richard III.;
the great central White Tower,
built by William the Conquer-
or, and now containing a mu-
seum of old-time armor and
weapons, where we may also
see many wooden figures of
mounted men clad in the very
armor worn long ago by knights
and kings. In another tower,
the Beauchamp Tower, we
shall enter the prison-chamber
in which many. of the great
people of England were con-
fined, and we can read the
inscriptions written by them
on the walls. In the corner of
the inclosure is a little chapel,
which differs from every other
church, in containing the
graves of so many famous be-
headed people. Among these
are Queen Anne Boleyn; Lady
Jane Grey, and her husband;
Queen Elizabeth's friend, the
Earl of Essex; and others with
whose names we are very fa-
miliar in English history. If
there had been no way of cutting off people's heads,
or of otherwise putting an end to them, a great deal
of the history of the world would never have been
written. In another tower, where it is said Henry
VI. was murdered, we shall see the crown jewels,
or regalia, of England, which are here for safe-
keeping. They are in a great glass case sur-
rounded by a strong iron-barred cage, through
which a thief, even if he could get over the Tower
walls and through its guards, would find it hard




to break. In this case we see golden crowns,
scepters, swords, and crosses, covered with mag-
nificent jewels of every kind, besides many other
dazzling and costly objects. On Queen Victoria's
state crown are no less than two thousand seven
hundred and eighty-three diamonds, and in front
is the great ruby, said to have belonged to the
Black Prince, which Henry V., who liked to make
a gorgeous appearance on great occasions, wore
on his helmet at the battle of Agincourt.
Standing about in various places in the Tower
grounds we shall meet with
some of the warders, called "- ...
"beef-eaters," which is an Eng- .
lish corruption of the French :
or royal waiters.

These men are dressed in medi-
aval costume, adorned with
many bright-colored ribbon
bows, and carry tall halberds,
,o spears.
Not far from the Tower are
the great London Docks, which
are not upon the river, but are
inland water-inclosures of more
than a hundred acres in extent,

any of my companions wish to examine every
object there is in the British Museum, they must
give up the rest of London.
Another collection, almost as large, and more
interesting to many persons, is the South Ken-
sington Museum.
This museum is mostly devoted to objects
of art, and contains both ancient and modern
specimens of architecture, paintings, statues,
beautiful pottery of every kind, and enough things
worth looking at and studying to tire out the legs

surrounded by great ware-
houses. In these docks three M4
hundred large vessels can lie; 06
and in the warehouses, and in
Lhe immense vaults beneath M
them, are stored so vast quan-
tities of goods,-tea, silks, to-
bacco, coffee, sugar, wine, and
everything that can be brought
from foreign lands,- that there
seems to be no end or limit to
them. A visit to these docks
as well as to the West India .
Docks, which are still larger, .. "
and to several others in this
quarter of London, will help
to give us an idea of the enor-
mous commerce and wealth .
of the great metropolis.
Among the sights of Lon-
don is the British Museum,
which is one of the most ex-
tensive and valuable libraries
and museums in the world.
There are more than a million
books here; as well as collec- .....-
tions of Grecian, Assyrian, and "BEEF-EATERS," OR WARDERS, OF THE TOWER OF LONDON.
Egyptian marbles, statuary,
and inscriptions; with curiosities, antique and and brains of any human being who should try to
modern; and scientific and other interesting ob- see them all at one time.
jects, in number like the leaves upon a tree. If In Regent's Park, a large inclosure to the north

L i;

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of Hyde Park, are the Zodlogical Gardens, which
are in many respects more interesting than those
of Paris, and are very admirably arranged for the
convenience both of the visitors and of the animals.
Here the animals have more room to move about
than is usual ih menageries. There are elephants
and camels which carry ladies and children up and
down the grounds; and we shall see some fine

of him, dressed in the same kind of clothes he
wears, 'is set up in this gallery, among the crowd
of kings, queens, warriors, statesmen, and crim-
inals already here. Here is a figure of Cobbett,
the English politician, sitting upon one of the long
benches placed for the accommodation of visitors.
By means of machinery inside of him, his head
every now and then moves quickly to one side, as


Bengal tigers, belonging to the Prince of Wales,
in a great open-air inclosure so large that they
almost seem to be at liberty, and they walk about
and bound over trunks of trees as if they were in
their Indian homes. At feeding-time, which is in
the afternoon, this whole place is in a state of ram-
page, the animals requiring no dinner-bell to let
them know what time it is.
Another interesting place, where the creatures
require no food and are not at all dangerous, is
Madame Tussaud's Wax-work Show. Here we
shall see life-size figures of famous men and women
from all parts of the world,-Richard the Lion-
hearted, President Lincoln, Queen Elizabeth, Ceta-
wayo, Gladstone, and Guiteau, and many other
well-known people. Whenever a person does any-
thing that makes him famous, a wax-portrait figure

if he were looking around to see who is there. He
is a large man, of benevolent appearance, wearing
a broad-brimmed hat like a Quaker's, and it is con-
sidered a very good joke when some visitor, think-
ing him a real man, sits down by him, and is
startled at the sudden turn of his head. This is
a great London resort,-for nearly everybody wants
to know how eminent'people -look, and what kind
of clothes they wear;
We must also visit the great London markets,
one of which, called Covent Garden, is devoted to
vegetables, fruit, and flowers; and these are
brought in so vast numbers, and there are so
lively scenes among the crowds of purchasers, that
many strangers, who have no idea of buying, come
here in the early mornings simply to witness the
spectacle. There is also Smithfield Market, a build-






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ng covering three and a half acres, with a garden
and fountain in the center, where we see exposed
ior sale the meat of oxen, calves, hogs, and sheep.
In the Billingsgate Market we see fish in such
quantities that we can scarcely imagine .how a

city which eats so much fish can possibly want
any meat. Leadenhall Market is given up en-
tirely to poultry and game; while another of the
many London markets is devoted in great part
to the sale of water-cresses. Near Smithfield

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Market is the old market-place where many
famous persons were burned at the stake.
While we are in this part of the town, we must
stop for a time at the Guildhall, the ancient Town
Hall of London, where there is a museum of
curious things connected with old London, and
where we may still see the queer wooden giants,
Gog and Magog.
Leaving the noisy city, and the crowded busi-
ness portions of London, it is a great relief to
take a hansom cab, open in front, with a driver
sitting out of our sight behind, and to roll swiftly
over the smooth streets of the West End, as it is
called, where the rich and fashionable people live.
Here we find a great many squares," which are
little inclosed parks with streets and dwelling-
houses all around them; and farther to the west
we come to long streets and avenues, where the
houses have front gardens, and often back gardens,
and where everything is as quiet, and almost as
rural, as in a country village. Here, if we do not
know London, we may think that we are in the
suburbs, and that we need not go far to get into
the country; but, if we turn up a side street, and
go a block or two, we shall come upon a long,
noisy business street, crowded with people, vehi-
cles, and shops, and find ourselves in another of
the great business quarters of London. To get
out of London and London life is not easy, and
after strolling for hours we still see London stretch-
ing out before us, as if it would say, Here I am,
and if you want to see the end of me, you must
walk a long, long way yet."
There are many places outside of London to
which we must certainly go, and one of these is
the Crystal Palace. In this great glass building we
may see miles of interesting things connected with
architecture, art, and nature. Theatrical per-
formances also are given here, and concerts, and
sometimes grand shows of fireworks.
Then there is Hampton Court, an old palace
built by Cardinal Wolsey, with very beautiful
grounds and garden, laid out in the old-fashioned
style. There we may wander in the walks and

under the trees where "bluff King Hal" and,
later, Charles I. wandered with their courtiers.
At Windsor Castle, the residence of Queen Vic-
toria, we shall spend a day; and, although the
Queen may not be likely to ask us in, we shall see
a great deal of the magnificent building in which
the sovereigns of England, from as far back as
Edward III., have lived. Those who have read in
ST. NICHOLAS Mrs. Oliphant's account of Windsor
will be particularly interested here.
Then we must go to Richmond, a charming
village on the Thames, where all London people
go, and where there is a beautiful park and
We may also visit Greenwich, at longitude
nothing, of which we have also read in our maga-
zine, and go to the celebrated Kew Gardens, full
of rare and beautiful trees and plants and flowers.
The Victoria Embankment is a magnificent road-
way extending along the banks of the Thames, from
Blackfriars Bridge to Westminster Bridge, more
than a mile. It is built over a low shore which
used to be covered by water twice every day at
high tide. This great work consists of a wide
roadway with handsome walks on either side, and
is shaded by trees and embellished with statues. In
some places there are gardens on it, and here
stands a handsome obelisk which was brought from
Egypt. The Embankment cost ten millions of
dollars, and under it are tunnels, through one of
which runs one of the underground railways of
On the other side of the river is another road-
way of the same kind, not so long, called the
Albert Embankment. The first of these is often
called the Thames Embankment.
And now, my dear boys and girls, do you sup-
pose that we have seen all London? You may
have an idea of it, but I could take you about for
a week or two more and show you interesting
places and things which we have not yet seen.
But we have done as much as we can at present;
and, strapping our valises and locking our trunks,
we shall bid good-bye to great King London.



OUR baby now is four months old,
A bonnie boy, with hair like gold;
And his long clothes are put away-
For Mother shortened him to-day.

He has the loveliest of frocks,
All trimmed with lace, and two pink socks
That Father bought, the best by far
And prettiest in the whole bazar.




And now the rogue can kick about;
His little feet go in and out
As though they could not rest, and he
Is just as happy as can be.

Besides, he feels quite proud to-day
With all his long clothes put away,
And dressed so fine And then, you know,
We praise the boy, and love him so !


His grandmamma must see him soon;
We all will go this afternoon,
And take the pet, and stay for tea,-
And what a riot there will be !

At first, perhaps, she may not know
The baby, he has dwindled so;
But let her guess, and do not say
That Mother shortened him to-day !

There uas once an Absurd AllH;ctor,
V/ho wanted to serve as head -waiter ,

.And was
When they

One vwAose

greatly enraged
said they' d engaged
ard attractions were qrealcer.

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VOL. XIV.-40.










'F. you going to use those yellow
pieces of paper Papa just gave
to you, Mamma? May I have
one for my doll's dress? "
"Not for your dollie, Flora;
but you may look at them. They
t are tickets to a concert. Papa
and I are going to Brunswick
Flora turned the yellow tick-
ets over and over. She thought
of the one beautiful concert she
had listened to the year before,
when her father took her to town
in the afternoon. She remem-
bered the big drum, the men
with red cheeks blowing the
trumpets, and the man who rang
the tiny bells.
Flora was a very enthusiastic
little girl over music. Many an
evening, when the cool western
breeze wafted the strains of music
from the village band up to their
little cottage on the hill-top,
Flora would leave the circle of
Frolicking brothers and sisters,
and climb upon the large stuffed box under the
western window. Resting both elbows on the sill
and her chin in her hands, she would listen with
delight to the gay tunes.
At the word concert," a great many thoughts
went through Flora's excited little brain. With
bright eyes, and an earnest spot deepening on her

forehead, she returned the tickets to her mother,
and cried out:
"Oh, may I go, too? I will take a nap this
afternoon, so as not to be sleepy "
Oh, no, Flora dear This will be in the night,
and little eyes must be shut up tight then. Wait
until you are older, then you may go. We must
leave before supper; but remember, this is sister
Elizabeth's night to come home. You can help
Lily set the table to welcome her."
Just then, little Ben came running in from the
lawn with his hands full of buttercups. He pulled
at Flora's apron, and, holding a bunch of yellow
blossoms under his rosy little chin, cried :
"See me like butter! Now you like butter "
Oh, what a yellow chin, Benny! And is blue-
eyed grass open, too ? Where did you find them ?"
Come and see! answered Ben, scampering
off out the door.
Flora, forgetful of her disappointment, ran.after
him; and the two waded through the green field
after the flowers, the tall grass reaching to Flora's
belt, while the daisies and buttercups kissed little
Ben's forehead, as, with arms stretched upward
and stumbling little feet, he plowed through the
grass in front of his sister.
Elizabeth, who came home from the academy
on Friday afternoons, arrived just at supper time.
She was greeted with shouts of welcome, and
the information that Papa and Mamma had gone
to a concert.
After supper,- the children gathered around their
sister on the doorstep. Friday evening was always
a grand time with them. They followed Elizabeth
about, wherever she went, to make up for lost time
during the week.



"Now, who will get me some buttercups and
daisies? said Elizabeth. Bring a whole bunch
of them, and some of that fine, long grass, and I
will make some pretty wreaths."
The flowers were soon piled in her lap, and her
ready fingers were weaving crowns for each little
head. With eager eyes following the pretty work,
the children were quiet for a while, till Flora
spoke of the concert again.
Mamma says I can go when I get older."
"So can I," chirped Ben.
Fred and Lily said they did n't care for the con-
cert. When they were older they were going on
a shipwreck," and land on a desert island."
We have been playing it this afternoon, Eliz-
abeth, and it 's splendid. We did n't have any-
thing to eat on the island except a fish chowder."
"You were very fortunate to get a fish chow-
der! said Elizabeth, laughing. "Well, chil-
dren, I don't want to wait till we are older, before
we go to a concert. None of you are too young,
except Ben."
The children began to look pleased, yet mingled
with their pleasure came a troubled look that
Elizabeth should differ from Mamma.
"Let's go cried Elizabeth.
Why, Elizabeth they cried.
"Oh, I don't mean Mamma's concert. Mine
comes off in the morning."
"Then we can go," shouted Flora.
"Fred and I can't go," said Lily, "because we
shall be in school then."
That will not make any difference. My con-
cert comes early, before school begins."
But just see my old boots, Elizabeth! They
are all out at the toes, and Papa is n't going to
bring my new copper-toed ones till Monday," said
That will not make any difference, either. You
have to wear old boots at my concert. 'T would n't
do at all to wear new:boots in the hall."
'Cause they 'd squeak? piped Ben, who was
sitting down in the path, making a gravel garden."
"No, Ben," said his sister, placing one of her
crowns upon his head. But the boots would be
all spoiled after going to one concert, and would
never be new boots again."
"That's funny!" said Flora. "How would
they get spoiled?"
The floor of the hall will be so very wet."
"The floor wet!"
"Yes, and you must wear old dresses, too.
Nobody will see you."
"Why, the people that sing-they will see us."
"I hope not. They would be afraid and would
not sing if they did," mysteriously answered Eliza-

"Oh, sister Elizabeth, what kind of a concert
are you going to take us to cried astonished
Fred. "What a dirty hall it must be! A con-
cert in the morning, too, and such frightened sing-
ers I don't believe I shall like it. Do you think
I will?"
"Yes, indeed You '11 think it the greatest fun
you ever had. It is the most beautiful hall you
ever saw, Fred, if it is wet. The ceiling is a faint
sky-blue, with a rosy yellow border at the eastern
side. There will be a shining lantern to-morrow
morning, hung low from the ceiling. The walls
are trimmed with fresh, budding evergreen boughs,
and the air of the hall is scented with the perfume
of flowers!"
"Just as our schoolroom was last year on the
last day, when we all brought bunches of flowers
to the teacher 1 The whole room smelled of rose-
petals and lilacs. Oh, how pretty it was!" said Lily.
"Where are the tickets, Elizabeth?" asked
Tickets? Oh, tickets Well, I have not bought
them yet. In fact, it is a free concert. Anybody
may go who will get up early enough. I think
the only tickets required are a fresh face, bright
eyes, sharp ears, and a quiet step!"
I think there is something queer about it, but
I think it is going to be nice, don't you, Fred?"
said Lily.
"Maybe so," said Fred, not quite ready to com-
mit himself. "What time must we get up?"
"We must get up from this doorstep now," said
Elizabeth, rising and catching up Ben. "The
dew has begun to fall, and Papa says that is the
time to come in. As to the concert, you will have
to be up at half-past two. I will go around and
wake you up, because we must be out of the house
at three, as the concert begins then."
"It must be mosquitoes !" shouted Fred. He
had been brooding in silence for the last five;
minutes over the mystery of his sister's concert..
"That will not be any fun at all! "
"Why, Fred, how you frightened me!" said
Flora, with a laugh.
"Hush, Fred! Don't say any more," whispered
Elizabeth. "You are wrong. But don't guess.
again. Wait, and we will surprise the others."
"I know!" said Lily. "When you said it
began at three, that reminded me. It is better
than mosquitoes, Fred."
"Children, let 's clear the dining-room and
have a game of blindman's-buff before bed-time,"
said Elizabeth, to divert the children's attention
from guessing her secret.
Away they flew to the dining-room, dragged
the chairs, one after another, into the hall, pushed
the table up between the windows, and had



a grand scramble. When they all had taken
their turns at being blindman, Elizabeth said,
" Come, children, you must scamper to bed now.
Benny, you come first."
Sing my song to me, Lily, and then I will
go," said a sleepy little voice.
"What song does Benny mean, Lily?" asked
"Oh," explained Flora, eagerly, "it's a song
that Lily made up all herself, while you were at
school this week. She made it up one night when
she was rocking Ben to sleep, when Mamma had
a headache."
So, taking Ben into her lap, Lily sang the good-
night song. The others gathered around the
rocking-chair in a circle, and enjoyed the simple
words as much as Benny did, while Lily sang:

Pretty baby, little darling,
Would you like to go to sleep,
When the day is fading, fading,
And the stars begin to peep?

When the little birds so pretty,
In their nests shut up their eyes,
When the bee has stopped his humming,
And the moon is in the skies?

When the fire-fly has lighted
In the dark her cunning lamp,
When the dew is softly falling,
And the ground is cold and damp?

Pretty darling, little precious,
Would you like to go to sleep,
When all things are resting, resting,
And the stars begin to peep?"

A half hour later the house was wrapped in
quiet. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of the
white birches. The roar of the distant falls mur-
mured a deep undertone. The silvery moonlight
was shining through the windows, and Elizabeth
was quietly moving about, trying to mate the
children's rubbers in the back entry.
Later still, when the father and mother returned
from the concert and walked up the path in the
moonlight, they saw the old spoon in the gravel
where Ben had been "gardening," and the bunches
of withered flowers on the doorstep. Elizabeth
greeted them with her plan for the morning, and
received the merry rejoinder:
Remember, we have had our concert, and
shall wish our morning nap undisturbed."
-Now let us see what preparations are being
made for the concert in the queer, damp hall of
which Elizabeth had spoken.

The members of the chorus are fast asleep among
the green trees, with their heads tucked under
their wings. There are our famous singers, the
robins, with their coats of scarlet and brown;
there the flocks of little blackbirds, with their
white aprons; there are the sparrows, each the
owner of an exquisite solo, expressly its own; and
somewhere in the most hidden recesses of the
woods reposes the thrush, who sings as no Jenny
Lind can sing. We can not even think of the thrush
as sleeping like other birds, so distant and individ-
ual does it seem. Even the black crow is pre-
paring himself for the morning chorus; while
countless tiny wood-warblers, who have no need
to rehearse their parts, are concealing, each in a
soft little ball of feathers, the mystery of song.
In a very silent way, other great preparations
are going on. First of all, the dust and heat of
the preceding day must be wafted away. For,
when the new day comes, never seen before, no
trace must be left in the air of any yesterday.
Does a cool, calm breeze come up to cleanse and
inspire the air ? How does it take place? None
can tell. Enough that there has been accom-
plished the great work of wiping out the past and
beginning all over again.
Fresh perfumes, too, are prepared to greet the
new day; while, poised in the eastern sky, the
morning star hails the dawn. And what fairy has
been around.to every single tree, bush, leaf, and
grass-blade, freshened it with water, and adorned
it with precious jewels? Every strawberry vine
has a pearl for each point on its leaves. The
morning-glory, too, that flower which can never
have seen a yesterday, is unfolding. Surely the
new day is here !


AT about a quarter of three, the house by the
woods was full of suppressed excitement. The
children, in their endeavor not to wake their
father, mother and Ben, and at the same time to
be sure to make one another hear, talked in loud,
rasping whispers that made Elizabeth nervous.
Fred's old boots made such a racket that his
sister told him to go about in stocking-feet till
they were out of the house. Lily and Flora got
into such a gale of laughter trying not to make
a noise and walking on tiptoes, that they finally
adjourned to the kitchen and shut the door after
Fred looked like a scarecrow, and Lily, who
always tried to be like Fred, said she looked
entirely too neat, and wished she had some
more ragged things to put on. As they rushed
out of the door, glad to be able to talk "out




loud," Lily caught her apron on the latch and
tore a great rent in it.
Now, Lily, you ought to be satisfied," they
cried with a merry laugh.
From Lily's and Fred's hints, Flora had now
found out what sort of a concert they were going to.
Oh, that must be the lantern !" cried Flora,
as they stepped out of doors and faced the morn-
ing planet.
A few minutes' walk brought them across the
fields and to the entrance of the woods. Seated
on a moss-covered log, Elizabeth told the children
that they must keep perfectly still for a while, so as
not to miss the first notes. To their listening ears
came up from the village a faint cuck, cuck,
cuck-a-row-w." Still fainter from a distant farm-
house came the answer, cuck, cuck, cuck-a-
row-w," and from outlying farms, one cock after
another took up the cry.
"Must we call that part of our concert ?" whis-
pered Flora.
Certainly, Flora, that is a part of the concert.
I like to hear it. We can call it the prelude.
Now, hark Over there in the marshes, what do
you hear?"
Frogs !" cried the children. Oh, they sing,
too "
Dong, dong, dong," sounded the village clock.
There; it's three o'clock," said Fred. "You
said the concert would begin promptly. Where
is it ? "
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when
a sleepy voice came up from the hedge:
"See, sea, see; violets, violets, violets."
At the first notes of the "violet-bird," as the
children called it (because it always came with the
earliest violets), Elizabeth put out a warning hand
to keep the children still, as they all involuntarily
began to jump up with excitement.
"Why, how do they know the time?" said
Flora, in astonishment..
That 's the chief solo-singer of the concert,
children," said Elizabeth; "our yellow-headed
There 's the robin waking up, too," whispered
the voices, as the robin's I L'.i.-['- filled the
air. Then followed a quick, troubled note from
another robin, as if waked too early from its
And now, another sparrow from the grove calls
out, "See, see--oh, see, see and leaves the re-
frain unfinished, while from the hedge comes the
response in full, See, sed, see; violets, violets,
violets! "
Just above their heads a little blackbird, with its
white breast and bright little eye, woke up and
shook its sleepy feathers. Then, flying to the top

of the tree, it poured forth a melodious trill. It
was carried through unbroken to the end. No
woman on the stage can ever hope to attain to
such richness and perfection.
One tiny warbler, elate with happiness, could
only sing, "Oh, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet,
sweet the syllables running over each other in
rapid succession.
The crow does not seem to join in the chorus,
does he, Elizabeth ?" said Lily. He does not
get up so early as the rest of us."
By way of answer, Lily heard a sleepy, hoarse
"What! what! what!" from the spruce-trees,
and then an indignant chorus of "Hark! hark!
hark caw caw "
Lily laughed heartily.
Oh, that woke the crow up He did n't like
to be thought a lazy bird."
In a short time, the different songs were all
mingled into one grand chorus. Each bird had
its own peculiar melody; each sang as if uncon-
scious of any other member of the chorus; yet the
whole was in perfect harmony. There was no dis-
cordant note. Even the hoarse caw, caw, of the
crow only added a rich bass to the soprano and
the tenor singers. Robin-redbreast's part was the
most prominent. Yet, always strong and clear
from the grove, one sparrow gave the watch-cry,
"See, se6, see," and from the hedge came the
news of violets, violets, violets "
"Listen very carefully," said Elizabeth, "and
when robin pauses a minute to take breath, you
will hear our sweet thrush."
Oh, there it is i How far off it sounds!"
said Flora. "And there are our swallows," she
added, pointing to the familiar birds as they flew
in low, waving circles, uttering their peculiar
Oh, what birds are these ?" cried Lily. "They
flew right by my head, two of them What are
they ?"
"Those are bats," said Elizabeth. See, they
are getting ready to go to sleep. They have had
their day, and now are ready to say good-night."
A short while before four, the grand chorus
broke up. The birds were seen flying down to the
ground and picking up their breakfast. One gay
little chorister flew to a branch just beside the
children, and, not noticing them, flew down on
the grass and found a breakfast ready for the taking.
The bright yellow-birds with their somber mates
were exulting over their treasure of dandelion
seeds. With a quick flutter the little birds would
fly upon the stems of the dandelion and bring
the airy head of seeds within reach. Gayly flit-
ting from tree to tree, they would call out with
a bewitching little intonation, "Phoe-be-e, Phoe-


b6-e," with a rising inflection on the last syllable.
Just the turn in the accent and pitch of the notes
gives a whole world of difference between this
cry to "Phoebe and the plaint-
ive "Phoe-bee, Phoe-bee" of
our chickadee. The one seems
like the playful chuckle of a little child,
calling merrily, "Phoe-b6-e, oh, come
se-e; the other a solemn, sweet call,
so full of pathos that we wonder how it
can come from the chickadee, whose most
familiar note seems full of good cheer and happiness.
The distant song of the thrush was still heard
in the woods. Elizabeth proposed that they scat-
ter quietly to see who could find the thrush and
watch her as she sang.
Flora wandered off among the pine-trees. The
soft, brown needles underfoot muffled her light
tread. Nearer and still nearer she approached
that hidden fountain of song, till she could fix its
position on the top of a dark tree, the crest of
which alone was bathed with the rosy dawn.
Stopping at a short distance from the foot of
the tree, where she could easily look up to the
thrush, Flora soon forgot everything and every-
body else. Poised on the tapering point of the
tree, the bird raised its head, and from its quiver-
ing throat poured forth its morning song. The
three variations followed one another after the
required intervals. Again and again the rich
cadences fell on Flora's ear. Never before had
she been so near the heart of the bird How dif-
ferently it sang from the other songsters There
was no hasty flitting from branch to branch during
the silent intervals. The thrush seemed to have
banished all other thoughts, and with gaze fixed
on the morning blue, with nothing between itself
and the over-arching heavens, opened its soul in
sad, sweet melody.
Flora almost held her breath when, a few
moments later, the bird ceased to sing, and flew
softly downward among the low trees and then
lit on the pine-needles at her feet. With so much
grace and quiet it came to the ground, that it
seemed more like the wafting of a feather to the
earth than the descent of a bird.
Everything seemed to respect the thrush's love
of concealment. The very pine-leaves just matched
its brown back, and the gray mosses made in-
conspicuous its spotted breast. The bright eyes
scanned Flora carefully, but, hidden behind a
protecting fence, she passed for a shadow.
"You dear little bird What were you saying
up there against the sky?" whispered Flora, half
to herself and half to the bird. "Oh, if the others
could only see "
A rustle in the bushes and a sharp "oh! "caused

the thrush to flit quietly away as Lily made her ap-
pearance. The two girls, after relating their suc-
cess to each other, went off and joined the others.
"Just see my boots said Lily, looking down
at her wet feet.
And mine, too," echoed Flora.
"And my dress! It is wet two inches
deep with dew "

said Elizabeth rising. /
"Let us go in now, and.
put on our dry clothes and
try to get a nap before .--'
breakfast. The birds have i
finished theirs long ago."
The breakfast table was
made animated by the ex-
cited talk of the children.
They were full of the cho-
rus, and of how near they '
came to the birds, how
many they heard, and
who saw the thrush while
it was singing.
"Papa and Mamma
don't talk much about
their concert," said Flora.
"I don't believe it was so
nice as ours, after all." '
"You don't give us .-
any chance to talk! "
laughed Papa.
"I'm not sure," said Mamma, "but you children
did get the best of it; because Papa and I came
home last night full of criticisms on what we heard,
but you have not been critics at all."
"No, indeed! How could we criticise, Mamma?
Every song was perfect."
I can criticise one singer," said Lily, laughing.
"He was very disagreeable because he came so near
when he sang. He went almost into my ear just as
I was finding the thrush! I was walking along,
gazing up at the trees and following the song,
when a mosquito flew at me and bit me so hard





that I screamed right out, and the thrush flew
Yes," said Flora, that was my thrush."
"Well, does this happen every morning, Eliz-
abeth, when we don't get up ? said Lily.
Yes; every morning at this season of the year."
"But who go to the chorus when we don't ?"
"Very few, I think, know anything about it, or
care for it. I think the damp hall deters most
Oh, Elizabeth, now we know what you meant
by the damp hall!" said Fred. "When you first
said it, I kept thinking of the way the floor looks
on washing-day "
"May n't we go to-morrow morning again?
May n't Elizabeth wake us up ? asked Lily.
"No," said Papa. "The morning chorus is
free to all, but hereafter it must be kept in re-
serve for those who 'shake drowsy sleep from off
their eyes,' without being waked by anybody. If
you wake of your own accord, you may go any

As a natural consequence of waking up at half-
past two, the children slept unusually late the next
day. But the concert was as great a success as on
the previous morning, although the feathered
choristers sang not to the children's ears.
The children made out the following


PRELUDE Roosters crowing in the village.
R Frogs in the marshes.
(Clock strikes three.)
FIRST SOLO, Violet-bird.
SECOND SOLO, Robin-redbreast
THIRD SOLO, Wood-thrush.
Robin-redbreast (leader).
FULL CHORUS Yellow-bird.
Crow (bass). (At intervals, the sad
Wood-thrush. music of the Hermit-
Purple finch, thrush is heard from
Oriole. the pine-woods.)
FIFTH SOLO, Chickadee. (Exit Robin-redbreast.)
(Clock strikes four. Audience and singers disperse for breakfast.)

- V

g-.i .t -' ~''







A MORE cool, lovely, fragrant spot than the
Cahon of Roses in the dewy hush of early morn-
ing one could hardly find the world over; and a
joyous awakening was that of the children. The
river alone was full of attractions for both. They
walked beside it for some distance, swam across it,
wandered on the other side until they were tired,
and then returned to that on which they had
camped, at a shallow spot where some white light
was imprisoned even at that early hour, although
all the stream was clouded, overshadowed like a
mountain-tarn, giving out only steely-bluish, black-
ish surfaces as it rippled musically, eddied gently,
or rushed boldly away in the soft gloom of the
canyon. It was the coolest, quietest river imagin-
able at its brightest' and noisiest,-reflecting at
midday, in a distant fashion, the strip of sky over-
head, or, perhaps, some great white-cloud Alp,
as a metal mirror might have done. When the
children had finished dashing the water up into
each other's faces, to their mutual delight, and
had tired of juggling with the beautifully-colored
pebbles that abounded, they threw themselves
back on the grass and stared up at the sky, and
went on laughing and talking gleefully, until a
little rustle in the bushes near them attracted
their attention and sent them up into a sitting
posture at once. Juan was alarmed, for he had
thoughtlessly left his bow at the camp; but he
had no need to be frightened, for now came a
plaintive bleat, bleat, bleat, and out came the
little fawn they had spared the evening before.
It was alone, and was still wandering about in an
aimless, anxious way, trying to find out what had
become of its family and friends. It had strayed
down to the river to seek them, and coming upon the
children, stopped and looked at them in a gentle,
timid fashion, as if to say, Could you, would you
tell me, if you please, where my mother is ? I am so
tired, and I have looked everywhere. I don't know
what to do or where to go,- I don't, indeed "
"Oh! if I only had my bow!" said Juan.
"We need another bag, and the skin of this
fawn would make a splendid one, quite as big as
the one Shaneco keeps bears' oil in. What was
I thinking of to come away without my bow? I
tell you what Suppose we drive it very gently
to our camp, and kill it there. You can do it, if
you like. But you must take good aim, and shoot

at the throat so as not to spoil the skin. I '11 dress
it afterward and then make the bag."
"Oh, poor little thing! Let us not kill it,
Juan," said Nita. "It looks so helpless and
frightened Let us keep it for a pet."
"Why, what nonsense he exclaimed. "Of
course I shall kill it. But come on, I am hungry.
I want my breakfast."
Together they managed to make the fawn take
the direction of the camp. But the longer Nita
saw it and watched its graceful movements, as it
trotted or bounded before them, the more pleased
she was with its slender legs, its comical apology
for a tail, its pretty coat, and the soft brilliancy of
its eyes. Every moment she grew more deter-
mined to keep it. It is such a dear little.thing!
I must have it; but how can I prevent Juan from
killing it?" she thought. When they came near
the camp, he bade her run and fetch her bow or
his; but she was ready with an excuse- the fawn
would not stray; it would stay in the neighbor-
hood; why not wait until after breakfast? This
seemed reasonable enough, and Juan consented to
postpone the shooting. A very hearty breakfast
put him in a good humor; and, indisposed to exert
himself at all, he sat down on the river bank with
Nita and spent an hour there in idleness.
"By the bye, we will get that fawn now," he
said at last. He strung his bow energetically, as he
thought of the bag he coveted, and started off,
Nita following; while Amigo stopped to finish
gnawing at his breakfast of bones. When they
neared the little creature, Nita mustered up her
courage and began to plead for its life.
"Don't kill it, Juan, please! I like it. Let me
have it. You can get another. There are plenty
about here. I want it. Do let me keep it, won't you?
I want to keep this one and tame it. May I not?"
Juan did not at all approve of such a course; but
Nita was so eager and so much in earnest, that, to
please her, he finally put his arrow back into the
quiver. "It will die, anyhow," he said; "what
is the use of- ? Well, I will wait."
Somehow the fawn reminded Nita of her own
feelings when she had been taken from her mother,
and it appealed strongly to her heart. She had
always been fond of pets, too; and had often
wished vainly for a fawn. Dead deer of all ages
had been plentiful enough in the Comanche camp,
but here was a living fawn, so interesting and
beautiful a little creature, stepping so daintily,



nibbling so prettily, gamboling so playfully-
" No, no It must not be killed! she decided;
and having constituted herself its protector, she
thought about it a great deal, as she lay down for
her nap, and loved it more and more.
Juan took a good look at the meat he was dry-


ing, shifted the pieces about briskly on the poles,
made Amigo mount guard over the whole,-much
against his dogship's will,-and then he, too, in-
dulged in a nap. Nita woke first and went in
search of her little fawn. It was not far away.
Tired out by the wanderings and misfortunes of
the night and day, it was fast asleep when she caught
sight of it, and looked prettier than ever, curled up
gracefully among some bushes near the river.
VOL. XIV.-41.

She sat down very near it, and then and there
inaugurated her system of taming wild animals,
which, simple as it was, could not have been sur-
passed by the celebrated Mr. Rarey. The animal
before her was neither very wild nor very vicious,
it is true, and her method may broadly be said to
have consisted in doing
nothing at all. Nita was
quite half a wild little
thing herself, and per-
haps she knew instinct-
;'' ively how to woo other
woodlings, and to teach
S them to trust her. Cer-
-- .. tain it is that she waited
S quietly until the fawn
opened its eyes, looked
at it quietly, paid no at-
; tention to its little snort
S of fear, watched it bound
,* a few feet away, then
7 < slowly crept closer and
-j"" closer until at last she
S'actually managed to get
her hands on the shy
creature and give it a
caress or two. After this
she walked back to camp
as pleased as possible, and
told Juan that he should
not touch her little "Es-
trella," as she called the
new pet. She inspected
the four hams hanging up
in the tree, watched Juan
give another turn to the
strips on the scaffold, took
a look at the hides, and
then her brother an-
nounced that he was go-
ing hunting.
.' .L What's that for, when
S we have all this ?" asked
.. Nita, who was so accus-
S tomed to living from hand
....,to mouth, that she felt as
E NEXT PAGE.) if they had a wealth of
eatables already.
"Oh, I mean to keep the venison for our jour-
ney; yes, and kill more, and dry it, so it will take
up as little space as possible. We won't touch
that unless we are forced to," he replied.
The children supped heartily that evening on
a fat fawn which Juan brought back as the re-
sult of his hunting trip. He had secured it just.as
night was falling, on the other side of the river.
Nita looked on with bright interest while he


skillfully cut and stripped off the hide so as to
make no holes in it, beginning at the throat. The
fawn had previously been hung up by its neck so
that Juan could get at it easily; and when he had
placed the meat over the fire to dry, he carried
the hide off, sought and found a hole in the rock,
put the hide in it, filled it up with ashes and
water, and came back to camp again. Nita was
extremely curious to see and know what he was
"What have you done with it?" she said.
" What do you want with ashes and water ? You
surely are n't going to pour those on the hide.
You will ruin it."
To this Juan made no reply except to look very
important, and put her off with, You will see."
The first thing Juan did next morning was to
have a look at the fawn-skin; and finding that it
had not been in the ashes long enough for the
hair to slip off, he determined to leave it where it
was, in the tannery he had improvised overnight.
At breakfast, Juanita said to him, "Don't forget
that Amigo has to take his share of our load when
we leave here. He can't be a lazy dog when there
is so much to carry. You and I won't be able to
take it all, and I know he can help."
Yes; that was a splendid idea of yours, and I
am going to shoot a wolf on purpose to make a
pack-saddle of the skin," Juan replied.
He was very impatient to begin the work he
had marked out for himself, but it could not be
done that day; so he had to content himself with
other employment and amusements, of which
there was no lack. The most interesting one was
shooting two more turkeys, which afforded them not
only a great deal of fun, but a nice dinner. Any-
body could have told that Juan's heart was in the
work he had planned, for he was up at dawn next
day, and was so full of energy that he paid no
attention to Nita's sleepy remonstrance, Don't
go yet, Juan. It is not light enough to see."
Oh, I can't wait for the sun to get here he
answered impatiently, and ran off to the "tan-
nery." He soon had the fawn-skin out, shook it
thoroughly, and putting it on a tree that had
grown in such a way as to present an inclined
plane that exactly served his purpose, he went
busily to work. When Nita joined him, he was
rubbing away with intense vigor, singing as he
bent over the skin, so absorbed in what he was
doing that he started when she spoke to him. She
offered to help, and looked on with vivid curiosity,
as Juan swept up and down the skin with a deer-
rib and skillfully removed the hair. She chattered
to'him all the while and plied him with questions;
but he only continued to sing and to work.
"Now, then," he said, at last, when the skin

was all clean and smooth, "you can run back to
camp and bring me all the turkey-fat there is."
Full of admiration of Juan's talent and ingenu-
ity, Nita cheerfully obeyed; and, as a reward, was
allowed to take a turn at rubbing the fat into the
skin when Juan's arms and muscles gave out.
When it was thoroughly soaked with the fat, and
had been rubbed until it seemed a wonder that
there was anything left of it, they took it up be-
tween them and bore it proudly back to camp, and
propped it up in front of the fire to dry. They
then breakfasted on cold turkey; and, as they.
munched away, discussed their plans.
As soon as I have time, I shall begin Amigo's
pack-saddle, for we shall have to accustom him
gradually to wearing it. Don't you interfere, Nita.
I '11 bring him to terms! said Juan. You can
just amuse yourself with your fawn. How tame it
is already It joins the deer that come in to
water every night. I wonder it has n't gone off
with them. What was the use of taking it for a
pet, anyhow? We shall not be here longer than a
week, and then you will have to leave it."
"But I won't leave it! I am not going to leave
my little Estrella behind me! replied Nita pet-
tishly. I like it better than any pet I ever had,
and I mean to take it with me."
"All right; only I will kill it first," said Juan.
You shan't kill it at all! said Nita. It is
mine I won't have it killed And we are not
going away in a week; we are going to stay a
month You said so yourself."
"Oh! that was when I first came and I was
tired. I am going just as soon as I am ready,"
said Juan.
"But I am not going till I am ready! re-
torted Nita.
You are going whenever I see fit to take you,"
said Juan provokingly. "I am a warrior, and I
know best, and you must do as I say. You are
nothing but a child, and you will never be any-
thing but a squaw. We are going in a week, and
I shall kill your fawn whenever I choose."
Then followed a stormy moment, filled with I
shalls" and I shan'ts," I wills and I won'ts,"
which worked the quarrel up to its height. Never
had they had such a disagreement, and their
hearts were so full of angry and wicked feelings,
that even the lovely Cation of Roses became all at
once an ugly and dreadful place.
I will kill it now," said Juan passionately, start-
ing up and seizing his bow.
"You shan't touch it!" shrieked Nita. Both
children ran as fast as they could to where Estrella
was peacefully grazing in ignorance of what was
going on. Quick as thought, Nita rushed up to the
fawn. Quicker still, Juan fitted an arrow and let



it drive-but not into the fawn. Nita had thrown
her arms around her little pet's neck, and whiz
went the arrow into the fleshy part of her left
arm. She gave a shriek and tumbled down as if
Juan was dreadfully frightened. His anger
cooled at once and was replaced by alarm and
regret. He ran forward, startling the fawn, which
bounded away a short distance and looked back at
the children, quite unconscious of its narrow escape.
Passionately Juan assured Nita that he had not
meant to hurt her. He whipped out his knife,- cut
off the point of the arrow, sacrificing it without a
thought, drew it out with one swift motion, and
in a twinkling had bound up the wound with

had wandered off a little way and seemed to be
looking at them in mild rebuke.
The truth was that Juan had been growing more
and more proud and overbearing of late. He had
convinced himself that he was a very remarkable
boy, indeed; infinitely superior not only to Nita
but to everybody. And this conviction had led him
to treat his sister with a certain contempt which
she had felt, but not resented. H6 saw his
mistake, now; and as they walked back to camp,
he was so kind and tender, so humble, and so like
his own old self, that Nita's love and confidence
revived tenfold. Nor was this the only good result
that flowed from the quarrel. The remembrance
of the lengths to which his anger had carried him


more skill and gentleness than could have been
expected. So eager:was he, so humble, so peni-
tent, that Nita could not long remain estranged
and unforgiving. Realizing, as they did, that
they both had been in fault, no sooner did one
begin to take all the blame for what had happened,
than the other, too, assumed it; and never had their
hearts been more united than when they finally
embraced each other, after half an hour of sighs
and tears, excuses, explanations, and confessions.
Juan's generous nature was especially moved,
and he ardently longed to make every possible
reparation. He could not sufficiently accuse him-
self; and as to Estrella, he conceded everything.
He would catch and tame several fawns for Nita,
if she liked; he would do anything, agree to any-.
thing, that would make her happy. Meanwhile,
the innocent cause of the well-nigh tragic dispute

kept Juan on his guard against giving way to his
temper, and taught him to curb his passionate
nature. As for Nita, she asked nothing better
than to live in love and peace with Juan.
In this way another member was added to the
party in the caion, and for the remainder of their
stay, Estrella was as much at home in the camp as
was Amigo. There never was a prettier or gentler
little creature. It became wonderfully tame, and
would follow Nita about, as if it had been a pet
lamb, up the valley, down the valley, across the
river, wherever that active young mistress chose
to rove; it would eat from her hand and rub
against her, cat-fashion; it seemed to her to have
every delightful quality that a pet could have, and
she was never tired of caressing it. It is certain
that she never would have given it up of her own




Estrella finally settled it once for all. She took
'her future into her own hands, or, rather, hoofs;
.and one night, when the children were fast asleep,
and the crescent moon was peering over the edge
of the cliff with one horn well down to see if those
could possibly be the two little Mexicans that had
escaped from the Comanches, the little fawn
trotted off down the river-bank, plashed into the
water, and joined a certain benevolent doe that
frequented the cafon. We have nothing to do
with the interview between them. It was not
their first; and Estrella's comical little tail wagged

a great deal while it lasted, perhaps from satisfac-
tion at finding herself an adopted child. An hour
later she might have been seen leaping up a well-
known trail, in the wake of her foster-mother and
beautiful young foster-brother.
The party took their way to the plateau above,
and so on out into the hills, where, all unmindful
of the affection, sacrifices, and distress of the
mistress she had abandoned, the happy, if un-
grateful, fawn went back to that state of nature
which for her and all her tribe is emphatically a
state of grace as well.

(To be continued.)



O HAPPY birds among the boughs,
And silver, tinkling brook below!
Why are you glad,
Though skies look sad?
" Ah, why? And would you know ?"
A pleasant song to me replied;
" For some one else we sing,
And that is why the woodlands wide
With rapture 'round us ring !"

O daisies crowding all the fields,
And twinkling grass, and buds that grow !
Each glance you greet
With smiles, so sweet!
" And why--ah would you know?"
Their beauty to my heart replied;
" For some one else we live;
And nothing in the world so wide
Is sweeter than to give "

I Vi

w~~ ~ I4

.:. :7V







ON the 28th of August, the second class, which
had been on furlough all summer, returned;
camp was broken, and barrack life began for the
plebes. Tents were lowered, and the entire corps
marched across the plain to barracks in a pouring
rain. Rooms were chosen by classes; the first
class having the first choice, and the fourth class
contenting itself with rooms on the fourth floor-
the "cockloft"-or else on the ground floor.
Fred and Craw chose a room in the second
division; and they found it not a whit more com-
fortable than the barrack rooms in which they had
lodged on their arrival. Nothing in the way of
ornament was allowed in the room; but the white-
washed walls and the bare floor were with them
constantly, and everything was required to be
kept in perfect order and scrupulously clean. The
bedding had to be kept piled in a certain manner,
the different articles of apparel were required to
be hung on certain hooks, and the articles on the
shelves were laid and filed with mathematical pre-
cision. Each morning the rooms were inspected
by the lieutenants in charge of companies, and
any variation from regulations in the arrange-
ment of the rooms and any litter or untidiness were
promptly reported. Each occupant of a room was
detailed as room-orderly for a week at a time, and
during that week was responsible for the condition
of the room; and all reports against the room
were to the orderly's discredit.
It came to be a favorite habit with the lieutenant
in command of "A" company to walk into Fred's
room of a morning and run his finger along the
mantel in a search of dust. His search was often
successful, and remarking, "Dust on your man-
tel, Mr. Arden !" he would walk out again. And
at the next publication of delinquencies would be
heard :
"Arden, dust on mantel at A. M. inspection";
the penalty being two demerits.
-The demerit and punishment system is the
means by which discipline is enforced. All viola-
tions of order which the cadet may have committed
are reported against him, if noticed by the cadet
officers whose duty compels them to take action
upon it, or by officers of the army; and every even-
ing, immediately after parade, the cadet adjutant

reads from the delinquency book the list of those
reports that have been made during the preceding
twenty-four hours. Cadets have the privilege of
submitting to the Commandant written explana-
tions of all such reports; and if an explanation
is satisfactory, the report is quashed. Otherwise,
the report is registered against the delinquent,
and a certain number of demerits, varying from
one to ten, according to the magnitude of the
offense, is placed against his name. Thus, for a
serious offense, like sitting down while posted as a
sentinel, or for disobedience of orders, the number
of demerits would be eight or ten; while for being
late at "formation," or for some such slight mis-
demeanor, one demerit would be given. The
limit for the demerits is fixed at one hundred from
January to June, and one hundred and twenty-five
from June to January. If this limit is exceeded,
dismissal follows as surely as though the offender
had been declared deficient in mathematics or
philosophy. But the limit is ample,,and, by even
slight attention to regulations, there is no neces-
sity for exceeding it or even for approaching it.
In addition to the demerits, which affect the
class standing of the cadet, other punishment is
generally awarded, such as confinement to room
or in light prison, or the walking of tours of extra
duty on Saturday afternoons, equipped as a senti-
nel. For very grave offenses, cadets are liable to
suspension for a year, or even to expulsion.-
The day after return to barracks, text-books
were obtained from the commissary stores, the
source of all cadet supplies, and on the Ist of Sep-
tember, which is the first day of the academic
year, recitations began.
The Ist of September also witnessed the admis-
sion of a few more candidates, who, by coming at
this time, avoided the discomforts of plebe camp.
But they labored under the great disadvantage of
having all their squad drill in connection with their
studies; and with this against them, they nearly
all soon gravitated to the foot of the class.
The studies now begun by Fred's class were
mathematics and English grammar. For purposes
of instruction the class was divided alphabetically
into "sections" of ten or twelve members each,
and each section was marched to and from its reci-
tation-room by that one of its members who stood
the highest alphabetically. In about three weeks,
transfers began to be made weekly between the sec-
tions, the object being to grade the class according


to ability and merit; and thus the proficiency
of a cadet in any study could soon be judged by
knowing the section in which he was. Fred Arden
had the advantage of starting in the first section
in each study, and by close application he retained
this high standing throughout the year.
The lowest section of the class, which is called by
cadets the "Immortals," generally contains those
cadets who have no hope of passing the examina-
tions, or those who through laziness prefer to
" chance it" by skimming over the lessons during
the year, and at examination time studying hard,
"boning" for a few days in the hope to learn
enough to pass. From these latter has arisen the
name of the section, for these lazy mortals become,
in cadet French, Les Immortelles, which, by easy
transition to English again, plainly makes them
In January came the first semi-annual examina-
tion, and all, both high and low, awaited it with
some dread. For, while the immortals expected
nothing but failure and dismissal, those directly
above them were more in doubt as to the result,
and no one wished to make a poor recitation-
a "fess"-on examination before the whole Aca-
demic Board. But the ordeal came and went, and
soon after, nearly a third of Fred's class went also,
" found in January,"- their military career nipped
in the bud.
After the examinations were finished, all the
classes were re-arranged in each study according
to the merit of their members; and study was
resumed, not to be interrupted again until June.
Early in February the whole fourth class was
summoned to the Headquarters Building, where
they took the "iron-clad oath of allegiance, and
received their warrants of appointment as cadets
at the Military Academy. This was a red-letter
day, for it marked their transition from conditional
cadets to cadets pure and simple. Fred felt his
heart swell with pride and satisfaction as he read
on his parchment:
"KNOW YE, that the President has been pleased to appoint
Frederick Arden, a cadet of the United States Military Academy,
to rank as such from the first day of July, i8i.
"Given under my hand and seal at the War Department, this
tenth day of February, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight
hundred and eighty-two, and of the Independence of the United
States, the io6th.
(Signed), RoBT. T. LINCOLN, Secretary of War.
"R. C. DRUM, Adjutant-General."
As spring approached, it became a pleasure to
Fred to watch the progress made in beautifying
West Point after the long winter, and to dream
of the glories of corporal's chevrons and the joys
of yearling camp. Then June came, and the
examinations were again held. More of the class

fell victims and were discharged; the first class
was graduated; the third class, now the second,
went on furlough; and the new first and third
classes went into camp together for the summer.



THE summer encampment, beginning about the
middle of June and lasting until September, is the
holiday season at West Point. The cadets lay
aside their text-books for the whole period, and,
living entirely in tents, grow brown by exposure
to sun and rain and wind. From the beginning
of camp to the Fourth of July no drill is required,
the only duties being guard-duty and parade.
But on July fifth, drills commence in good earnest
and continue during the remainder of the encamp-
The advent of the plebes gave to Fred's class
a feeling of great dignity, in that it now had a class
below it; and the yearlings, accordingly, proceeded
to treat the new-comers very much after the man-
ner in which they themselves had been treated the
year before, often putting their successors in very
ridiculous plights. Still, their duties, which were by
no means light, were performed with far more
readiness than they had been the previous year;
for the class not only led a far pleasanter life, but it
had now learned the soldier's first lesson of cheer-
ful and prompt obedience to orders.
Reveille comes at five o'clock in the summer
camp. Just before this hour the corporal of the
guard and one of the privates have rammed a
cartridge down the throat of the reveille gun, and
very likely have slipped a wad of paper, some grass,
and a brickbat in after it, just to make a "thun-
dering noise." The friction-primer is in the vent
of the field-piece, and the private stands with the
lanyard taut in his hand, ready at the word to
pull the line and discharge the gun. The bell
of the town clock sounds the first stroke of five.
Bang goes the gun, and the brickbat ricochets
across the grassy plain. The drum-corps, which
has been waiting on the color-line for this signal,
strikes up a tremendous clatter with fifes and
drums, and plays up and down the street of every
company; then, halting again on the color-line, it
plays the last notes of the reveille. Sleepy cadets
hurriedly emerge from their tents, buttoning their
coats as they go; and as the last notes sound, each
company forms line.
"Left face commands the corporal who is
acting as first sergeant of the company, in the ab-
sence of that officer with the rest of the second
class on furlough, and the line faces toward him.



He calls the roll from memory, and it rattles along,
-"Arden, Atkinson, Brown, Claymore, Craw,
Dean, Dent;" and the replies come,-"Here,"
"he-e-r-e," "h-o-o-o," "hare," "erh," "ha-a-ar."
"All are present, sir," reports the first sergeant
to his captain, and the captain transmits the report
to the cadet officer of the day. Break ranks,
march !"-the line dissolves, and the cadets go
to their tents to begin the morning policing.
During the next half hour, the bedding is neatly
piled in one corner; then the tent floor is swept;
all sticks, leaves, and scraps of paper are picked
from around the tents; and the whole of the refuse
is swept up in little piles in the middle of each
company street, ready to be removed by the com-
pany policeman. If the morning is clear, every
tent has its walls neatly looped up. Meanwhile,
surgeon's call has sounded, and the sick have
gone to the hospital. One of the lieutenants of
the company inspects the policing, and then the
drum beats the breakfast call. The companies
are again formed in line, the rolls are called, and
each first sergeant marches his company to its
place in the line, which is formed on the camp
Now the first captain of the battalion, a tall,
soldierly fellow with a deep bass voice, draws his
sword and gives the command; the line breaks
into column of companies and, headed by the
drum-corps, marches lightly to the mess hall.
In the mess hall, each cadet goes directly to his
seat; waiters rush to and fro; every one chatters
away to his neighbor between mouthfuls, and as
soon as his breakfast is finished, devotes himself
to swelling the uproar and confusion. Presently,
the first captain, having finished his breakfast,
rises and makes the tour of the hall, inspecting
the tables as he passes, and taking mental notes
of too much butter on plate," or napkin not
properly folded." Then, standing by the staff table,
he commands, 'B' company, rise!" B"
company obediently rises, goes out, and forms in
line. C," "D," and "A companies follow,
and the battalion marches back as it came.
Arrived on the camp parade-ground, the com-
panies wheel into line, halt, and the cadet adjutant
reads from a paper just given him by his clerk,
" In arrest, Brown. In confinement from 8 A. M.
to-day until 8 A. M. to-morrow, Adams, Carroll,
Dembell, Enderly, Gray, Smith"; and, having
thus reminded these cadets that they are in dur-
ance vile, retires. The first captain commands,
"Dismiss your companies!" the first sergeants
yell, "Break ranks, march!" and the orderly bat-
talion becomes a crowd of jolly, rollicking boys.
Soon the beating of a drum at the guard tent
summons the plebes to an hour's squad drill at

the hands of the yearling corporals. And while
they laboriously practice "second exercise" and
"balance," the older cadets disport themselves

---- --_ ----

, Y- :T


variously about camp. Many produce favorite
novels from their lockers, and, sitting in camp
chairs, lose themselves in the interesting pages.
Others prepare at once for the parade and guard-
mounting. Coats are brushed, and clean collars are
"crimped" with tooth-brush handles and pinned
on the coat-collars. Clean white trousers are
selected and any needed buttons attached. Belts
and gloves are inspected, the rifles are brushed and
wiped, and all specks of dust and dirt removed.
The ambitious "A" company yearling who goes
on guard to-day and intends to "throw up for
colors," appears in the company street and spends
a quarter of an hour in putting the final touches
to his rifle. It is our friend Craw who hopes to be
a "first color man," and accordingly he gets him-
self up in what he calls spooney style." His rifle
is a beauty. The bronze he has rubbed with cha-
mois-skin until it glistens as though oiled; the
wooden stock looks like polished mahogany; and
all the bright metal parts-the screw heads, the
rammer tip, the muzzle--are as brilliant as mir-
rors. His cartridge-box and bayonet scabbard
have been newly varnished and the brasses pol-
ished. If he does n't get rattled and fess on the
manual," he thinks he will "take colors sure."
He has a double object in view: he both wishes
his company to keep ahead of the others in the
number of colors taken, and to evince his own
superiority as a color man.
The hour of drill is now over, and the plebes
come marching in. They attract considerable

. -"-" -'-


L 6J
-'.I hi?]1 hi's

attention from the visitors who have already gath-
ered in the shade of the trees at the guard tents
and attention is called to them still more by the
voices of the corporals with them. "Hep, hep,
hep! take step accurately!" calls one. "Keep
your eyes to the front, Mr. Smith !" "Stop that
swinging of arms, sir carry the palm of your hand
square to the front !" They are brought into line
and dismissed; and as they break ranks, they start
for their tents at "double time." for they do not
have to carry their hands motionless by their sides
when they run.
Again the drum beats, and the cadets begin to
appear for parade, each one in his close-fitting,
swallow-tailed gray coat with three rows of brass
buttons down the front, a pair of immaculate white
trousers, black dress hat with polished ornaments,
white belts and gloves. The famous West Point
band comes marching up from the barracks and
takes its position on the right.of the parade-ground.
The little drummer sounds the ".assembly"; the
cadets fall in"; the roll is called, and the result
is reported to the captains, and by them to the
officer of .the day. Craw is in the line of file-
closers as a special favor, so that he need not by
any possibility mar the beauty of his gun by hand-
ling in the manual. His coat fits as though it had
grown on hini, his collar is put on with mathemat-
ical exactness, and his trousers, with their promi-
nent creases down the front and back, are stiff with
starch and as white as snow. He walks a little
stiff-legged, perhaps; but he considers it neces-
sary, to prevent his trousers from breaking at the
knee and looking badly before the adjutant inspects
Now the drum-major waves his staff, the band
strikes up a lively tune, and the companies march
out to its inspiring music and form line on the
parade. Each company, at its captain's com-
mand, comes to the position of "parade rest."
There is a flourish of trumpets from the band;
and then, under the guidance of the drum-major,
who marches majestically in its front, it plays
down the line and back to its original place.
The music ceases, and the clear voice of the


cadet adjutant rings out, "Battalion, attent-i-o-n !
Carry-arms!" His commands are executed by
the cadets with the precision of automatons. He
marches to the front until midway between the
battalion and the officer in charge, who receives the
parade; here he halts, faces the battalion, and
commands, "Present arms!" Crash! the rifles
fly to the position. He faces about again, and,
addressing the officer in charge, says, Sir, the
parade is formed."
S"Take your post, sir!" replies the officer, and
with his swinging step the adjutant moves to the
front and past the officer, to his designated place.
The officer in charge then exercises the bat-
talion in the manual of arms, and as the words of
command fall from his lips, the cadets execute the
motions in unison, as though moved by machinery,
such is the degree of perfection to which constant
application and practice bring them.
The manual being finished, the adjutant receives
the reports of the first sergeants, and publishes the
orders of the day. Then he announces, "Parade
is dismissed!" and sheathes his sword. All the
cadet officers, who have been standing motionless
in front of their companies, do the same, and
march toward the center of the line and halt. The
adjutant has meanwhile joined them, and now
commands, "Forward, guide center, march!" The
music strikes up, the line of officers steps off and
marches to within a short distance of the officer in
charge, where they halt and salute. He returns
the salute, and parade is at an end. The compa-
nies march back to their company streets, where
each is inspected by its captain; while each com-
pany's detail for guard duty for the day falls out
of ranks, and forms again by itself, ready to march
to its place in line for guard mounting when the

__ _L



adjutant gives the signal. Soon the signal is though repressed, is intense; for but three will be
given, and the details march to the parade-ground chosen, and each feels his knees shake "just a lit-
again, to the music of the band, and form line. tie" as he takes his place in the line, ready for the
Then comes the inspection. The officer of the adjutant's inspection. Each rifle is now inspected
guard, who is a first class cadet, faces about from with the utmost care. No particle of dust, rust, or
his position in front of the guard and commands, dirt can escape that rigid scrutiny. See! The
"Order arms! Inspection arms!" Then, ap- adjutant has discovered something at fault with
preaching the right of the line, he takes each rifle the very first piece What is it? And the cadets
as it is thrown to the position of inspection, and looking on crane their necks eagerly to see. Oh,
inspects it carefully, and at the same time casts a it is only a hair caught on the sight,- not enough
critical eye over its possessor. It is seldom that for the cadet to be cut" on. But the next gun
a cadet presents himself at guard mounting in any fares worse. The adjutant runs his finger along
but a fine condition; still it occasionally happens the edge of the stock, and then holds his finger
that dust is discovered in the bore of a gun, or a up for the poor cadet to see. A fine dark streak
collar is found to be poorly put on. is visible on the glove, and his doom is sealed.
Meanwhile the adjutant'has passed along the "Yes, sir; your gun is too dirty; fall out! says
line also, and, as he passes, those who intend to the adjutant. And the unfortunate, obedient to
compete for the honor
of colors signify it by
bringing their pieces .. "
to inspection arms.-
The adjutant gravely -
salutes and goes on:
the inspection of col- )
or-men will take place -
later. During the in- 4, _
section of the guard, ,'1 ,. ,
the cadet captains,- -
have finished the com- -
pany inspections, and I -- .
now march their com- -
panies out to a line in ':4!.J
rear of the guard, l*
where they stack arms.
The colors of the bat- .'I '.i
talion are placed on -
the center stacks, and,. i I \ ':
thus the establish-' \ i __
ment of the color-line .. -
is completed. One of ,.,. i.,",
the color-men of the I' 11
guard to be relieved 1 ,i .
is immediately posted .
as 'sentinel, and he -
walks up and down --
the line of stacks un- -- -
til relieved by the new -
The guard marches
in review, and to its
tents. The officer of
(he guard says, "Color-men, fall out!" and im- his fate,--"luck," he calls it,-leaves the line,
mediately half a dozen yearlings step out of ranks cut on colors," and returns to his guard.
and are surrounded by classmates from their sev- Now the adjutant comes to one with whom he
eral companies, who, provided with brushes, give can find nothing wrong. It is Craw, and the "A"
the last touch to each competitor. The excitement, company lookers-on become jubilant at the pros-
VOL. XIV.-42.


pect of winning another first color. Having in-
spected all the men in front, the adjutant goes
behind them, and looks them over. Little faults
that a casual observer would never notice are evi-
dent to his critical eye, and he calls attention to
each one. He comes in front again and takes a
final look at the contestants. Finally he says,
" Fall out, Craw; first colors and Craw, noth-
ing loath, steps out of the line, and, holding up
one finger to announce his good luck to his com-
rades, returns to his guard. The cadets from
his company express their approbation in warm
terms. Hurrah for you, Craw "Another first
color for 'A' company "
The visitors gaze with admiration at the first color-
man of the day. The sentinel whom Craw is to
relieve sets up a shout of, "Relief Corporal of
the Gua-a-a-rd; the color-line! And as Craw
marches proudly across the parade, in answer to
the call, the "A" company plebes gather at the
end of their company street and applaud vocifer-
ously. The remaining contestants present an
almost equally fine appearance, and are made to
execute the manual of arms to determine the re-
sult. It is soon decided, for some slight move-
ment at a purposely wrong command determines
the fate of one after another, until but two are left;
and they take second and third colors for the day.
Guard mounting is hardly finished when a roll
of the drum summons all to artillery drill. The
cadets come from the company streets, each wear-
ing his short, gray fatigue jacket and gauntlet
gloves, and cluster on the parade awaiting the as-
sembly. But those five minutes of waiting are sel-
dom wasted; as likely as not, a half dozen sturdy
yearlings form a circle, each with his arms across
his neighbor's shoulders; other smaller cadets
spring to their shoulders, and form the second tier
of a pyramid "; the third tier goes up, and then a
diminutive yearling is hoisted up and climbs on
nimbly to the top, where he stands a moment.
The next moment, the drummer beats the assem-
bly, and the pyramid falls to the ground in collapse
and is quickly incorporated in the line.
Each class now forms in line by itself, and the
roll is called by the cadet present who is highest
in class standing. The officer of the day receives
the report of these roll-calls, and the classes are
then marched up to the places of drill. The
plebes go to the foot-battery, just outside the
limits of camp, and there learn the names of the
different parts of the pieces, and are taught how
to aim and fire them. The yearling class marches
down the hill to the siege-and-mortar battery, and
there, for an hour, has target practice with the
siege guns. How hot the battery is! The in-
structor realizes that it is little better than an oven

this July day, and consequently fulfills the desire
of each yearling heart by giving frequent "rests,"
wherein the cadets take the opportunity to lie in
the shade of a neighboring bush and cool off.
Battery, attention calls the instructor; and
the cadets spring up and hasten to their positions
around the guns, and stand there motionless.
" From battery Six cadets at each piece seize
the handspikes and push and pry the ponderous
guns from the parapet until they are at a conven-
ient distance for loading. The cartridge is rammed
home, and a thirty-pound iron projectile carefully
pushed down the bore of the gun after it. The
guns are again run "in battery" and carefully
trained on the target, twelve hundred yards away,
on Target Hill, across the bend of the river.
Ready! commands the cadet gunner at each
piece, as the aiming is completed; and as he pro-
nounces the word, a cadet places a primer in the
vent and holds the lanyard in his hands, ready to
pull and discharge the piece.
And now the instructor gives the command,
"Number one, fire !" And with a crash and a
bang the first gun recoils from the parapet, while
the projectile, with a prolonged "z-z-z-z," flies to the
target. The instructor watches its flight with his
field-glass, and announces the shot to the gunner:
"A good line-shot, Mr. Arden, but a trifle high;
correct your elevation for the next shot." And
then, Number two, fire / and so on down the
whole battery.
At the same hour the first class has marched to
Fort Clinton, and there they practice tying knots,
splicing ropes, mounting heavy artillery pieces on
their carriages and then dismounting them, and
drill in all "mechanical maneuvers." It is very
pleasant to watch this drill, and groups of visitors,
relatives and friends of the cadets, often pass the
whole hour under the shade-trees of the old fort,
watching the progress that Charlie or Frank or
Ned is making.
The next duty of the morning is the dancing
lesson. Each class has an hour a day allotted to
it, during which it goes to the fencing academy,
where the members perfect themselves also in dan-
cing. Here the yearlings have "fun." The dancing-
master calls the dance, the pianist strikes up a
lively tune, and the cadets revolve and gyrate in
couples about the room. Thef comes a quadrille,
a grand "walk around," or a "stag-dance." They
can hardly fail to become good dancers when all
enter into the spirit of it with so much heartiness.
The dancing-master is the jolliest of short, fat
Attention, cavaliers !" he calls. In ze valtz
ze right foot es advance, so; zen ze left, and ze
right brought up, so! Now,- one, two, tree;




one, two, tree and he sways his body and half
closes his eyes as he chants the numbers, while
the whole roomful of boys moves as he directs.
Suddenly he sees a cadet leaning against the wall,
and he darts across the room to him.
Ah, Monsieur, vy do you not dance? "
Can't get the step," is the reply.
"Oh, et is very easy! I vill get you a part-



I; -t

'- tA.'


ner." And away he goes to another, who also
has difficulty with the step, and, panting and red
in the face, brings him to the scene. Now, Mees
Fisher, allow me to introduce Monsieur Johnson;
now you will dance." And "Johnson and 'Mees'
Fisher bow, and redden at the laughter around
them, and then try again.
The afternoon until parade is spent as holiday.
The first class men generally take advantage of
their privilege to leave camp, and go where they
will on the post. Yearlings who have obtained
permission also leave camp; and as the afternoon
wears on, the little restaurant at the Dutch-

woman's" becomes filled with gray-coated young-
sters, noisily enjoying the ice-cream and cake,
purchased "on check-book! "
The beating of the drum calls all back to camp
for the retreat parade, half an hour before sunset.

This ceremony is a repetition
troop parade, and immediately
goes to supper, which is eaten

-- 'a


r ;4
. --- .... '.-' .-. -

.-- ,
U" ^---"' I

M5 ., _. ,

of the morning's
after it, the corps
with all the more
relish on account
of the open air life.
On hop nights
the camp is a
scene of bustling
activity after the
return from sup-
per; cadets are
preparing for the
hop, filling out
the hop cards of
their fair partners,
and reporting
their departures
to the hop, or "on
permit," to the
first sergeants.
"Ah, Delange!
going to the hop
to-night ?" asks
Fred Arden, as
he meets his friend
coming from the
adjutant's tent
with a fresh hop
"Well, rather,"
replies Delange,
waving his card.

"Take a dance on this card
-- for me,-with a lovely girl,"
urges Fred.
"Can she dance ?" cautiously in-
quires Delange.
"Um-ah, I don't know; I never
danced with her; but she 's a niece of
my Congressman, and I wish her to have a good
time," says politic Fred.
"What 's her name ?" asks wary Delange.
"Miss Limber."
"Whew! She ought to dance! give me the
seventh, will you? And so the cards are filled
And the hop itself, with its crush of lace and
flowers, its fluttering fans and its fair faces, its
music, and the delightful motion over the waxed
floor, is a dream of delight too soon and too rudely
dispelled by the arrival of the orderly with his
drum at ten o'clock. "Recall" breaks harshly



in on the last waltz, and each one makes go6d
time back to camp, to avoid being reported "late
returning from hop."
Often, on other evenings, knots of cadets gather
for a song; and then, with guitar accompaniment,
roar out, "Benny Havens," and "Army Blue,"
at the tops of their voices. And as some impatient
yearling catches the words of the first class man's
favorite, song,
We 've not much longer here to stay,
Only a month or two,
Before we doff-the cadet gray
And don the army blue,"

he is heard sarcastically to rejoin,

No, not muchz longer here to stay,
Only a year or two !
And so we sit around and howl
That fiendish 'Army Blue'! "

With Fred, the camp passed quickly and
pleasantly. He became an attendant at the
hops and enjoyed them greatly. Bevies of pretty
girls spent the summer at the Point, and by
their bright presence added much to the season's
But what rendered the camp especially pleasant
to Fred was the presence of his parents, who made
him a long visit. They admired .his corporal's
chevrons, they were glad to see that his status in
the class had been such that his classmates had
chosen him as one of the hop managers, and in
all things they were proud of his success.
But the twenty-eighth of August rolled around
again, bringing with it the return of the furlough
class, and the return to barracks. So Fred once
more commenced the round of study, this time
with cadet furlough, a year ahead, held out as a
constant incentive.

(To be continued.)



ONE of the most remarkable wars that ever
occurred, a war in which thirty thousand soldiers
met an opposing force numbering tens of millions,
is not recorded in the military histories of the
country in which it took place. The country was
Russia, and in the year 1825 came the first call
for troops.
The provinces lying between Odessa and Kiev
sent forth the first alarm. Clouds, like gigan-
tic whirlwinds, had appeared in the air, rising in
vast columns and spreading out in strange forms
above the earth. Nearer they came, and finally
the terrified peasants found that the clouds were
alive,-in fact, were vast armies of grasshoppers !
The face of the earth was soon covered with them,
and at midday the sun was darkened, the insects
hovering over the earth like a pall. They cov-
ered the houses, crawled under doors and into
cracks, piled themselves up in heaps, and spread
devastation wherever they appeared.
The poor farmers vainly fought them with fire,
standing by their gardens to the last. The vast
hordes settled upon the green crops, in some places
to the depth of four or five feet, and when they
rose, the barren ground alone was left to tell the
tale. Borne along by the wind in waves and sheets,
the noise of their wings sounded like the rushing of
a gale through the rigging of a vessel. So great were

their numbers that the peasants were crazed with
fear. Some believed that the end of the world had
come; while all saw starvation staring them in the
face, for not only did the grasshoppers eat up
every blade of green, but they devoured the stores
of hay and every edible thing.
The news of the resistless advance of this vast
invading army, bringing famine with its onward
march, soon reached the Government of Moscow;
and in response to an appeal from the people,
the Emperor Alexander ordered out an army of
thirty thousand soldiers to fight them. Instead
of guns and cannon, the men were armed with
spades, shovels, bags, and implements for making
fires; and they advanced upon the enemy, stretch-
ing out in a line over two hundred miles long.
The horses could hardly drag the wagons through
the living mass, often two and three feet deep. The
'grasshoppers clung to the horses and men, and
leaped about their heads, adding to the confusion.
They were shoveled up in mounds, collected in
bags, raked together and burned, yet there was
no perceptible effect upon their numbers; and
through the governments of Ekaterinburg and
Kherson, for hundreds of miles, to the Black Sea,
they lay in a solid mass two feet thick.
Through May and June they rose in continuous
clouds, carrying destruction everywhere. A dis-




tinguished naturalist, on his way to the Crimea,
met the insects fifty miles from Kiev; they clung
to the wagon wheels like thick mud, and the speed
of his horses was reduced from eight miles an
hour to one. For a long distance he passed thus
through these invaders. Crossing the Black Sea,

)-: .2 "

o _

, ....


he found that on the island of Phanagoria the
insects had left the ground. At a distance of
five miles they resembled columns of black vol-
canic smoke hanging in the air at a height of six
hundred feet, the upper portion assuming the
appearance of dark clouds that cast weird shadows
upon the earth and darkened the sun's rays.

In Africa the migrations of grasshoppers are
equally dreaded, and they are often seen piled in
massive heaps. And in Algeria some years ago,
the French General de l'Admirault ordered -out
the army under his command to repel an invasion
of grasshoppers. Their efforts had some effect in

staying the impending disaster,
the enemy being fewer in number
than they had been in Russia.
In America also they are a
scourge. Their invasions are
made in search of food and are
often continued for a thousand
miles or more. The eggs are
laid in. holes in the ground.
When the young larva hatch,
they soon develop wings; a vast
band of them sometimes rising
simultaneously and flying away.
Specimens of a strange locust
were observed in England in 1869,
and it is supposed that they came
direct from Africa by sea, as ves-
sels twelve hundred miles from
land met with hosts of them which
covered the masts, sails, and rig-
ging in crawling, flying hordes.
Yet, though their invasions are
so disastrous to civilized men,
some races, which do not culti-
vate crops, look upon their ap-
pearance as good fortune, and
collect them for food.
Butterfly migrations have at-
tracted much attention in all coun-
tries, but the cause of their flights
is not definitely known. The sul-
phur, or yellow-colored, butterflies
of South America are the most
noted in this respect. Sir Robert
Schomburgh, in ascending the
river Essequibo, came upon an
army of them so dense that the
sunlight was dimmed, !1.i- rih.1
converted the trees, their leaves,
and the ground all about into a
living cloth of gold. For nine
and a half hours, this wondrous
procession moved along .in rapid
and silent flight. During this
passed up the river nine miles,

time the boat

proving that the column was over nine miles wide;
its length could only be conjectured,-while the
numbers that composed its rank-and file baffled
all calculation.
Another sulphur-colored butterfly has a.similar
habit of traveling in vast numbers. The late Pro-


fessor Darwin met with a swarm of them ten miles
at sea, off the Bay of San Bias, in Mexico. They
covered the entire vessel, falling upon the deck in
a continuous golden shower, until the sailors cried
out that it was snowing butterflies. From the mast-



are near relatives of the short-tailed field-mouse,
and are about five inches long, with round heads,
brown fur, and bead-like eyes. Their home is in
the highlands, or fells, of the great central mount-
ain chain of Sweden and Norway, where they build
nests of grass for their
__ young. The lemmings
.-. are spiteful little creat-
ures when aroused, sit-
S- ting up on their hind legs
and fighting with a will.
Not only are they pugna-
cious, but extremely rest-
.?. less and migratory as
well; and every five, ten,
S-- or twenty years they seem
-.' possessed by a desire to
-- see foreign lands.
Thereupon, they one
-'.-- .-" and all leave their settle-

N( t

head the end of this swarm was not discernible with
a spy-glass.
Many of the larger animals move from place to
place every season, changing their abode to suit
the demands of their appetites. But the most
marvelous invaders are the lemmings. They

ments and start out in
tens of thousands, over-
run the cultivated tracts
of land in both Norway
and Sweden, and ruin
the plants and vegeta-
tion. They march only
at night, pressing on
slowly in one straight
course, and allow noth-
ing to disturb them.
Birds and various ani-
mals follow and prey
upon them; but, not-
withstanding this, they
actually increase in num-
bers, gaining recruits as
they advance. Rivers are
swum and hills crossed,
until, finally, the Atlantic

--"- / or the Gulf of Bothnia is
S. I _. iched.
SE.ut, still impelled by the same
bhi nd instinct that has led it
j ,:.l -i., the entire vast concourse
pi.in-i; into the sea, swimming on-
.1. .I. : little animals piling one upon
.r..rlr:, .,i ey are beaten back, until at
i i rl-.-:ii. J.-.. .:-_ Iu formed veritable sea-walls.
Boatmen returning to the beach have found their
way obstructed by a struggling horde that has
just reached the sea. The number of lemmings
in these bands is beyond all computation. Some-
times the march is kept up for three years before
the water is reached.
In warmer countries, the rats migrate in such
numbers that the entire country through which




they pass is sacked. In the Brazilian province of
Parana, these armies take up their march about
once in thirty years, owing apparently to the dying
out of a bamboo, upon the seeds of which they
feed. Gradually starved out, they start for other
fields, their numbers being continually re-enforced
as they advance. Nothing deters them; houses are
entered and left bare, plantations are swept away by
the onward march. In Ceylon, and in Chili also,
the rats seek other homes for similar reasons.
A common and dreaded incursion in America is
that of the army worms, the mysterious marches
of which are the wonder of all beholders. One of
these armies swept over the city of New Bedford a
few years ago, destroying every blade of grass in
its onward march; and the noise of its eating
could be heard distinctly. A trench dug at the
side of a field was filled in a few moments; impelled
onward by blind instinct, the insects poured, a
living cataract, into the tar placed below to receive
The most dreaded insect invader is the white
ant. In Africa, their houses are dome-shaped
mounds often eighteen feet high. These insects
erect pyramids one thousand times higher than
themselves The ants on their travels so conceal
their approach that their presence is not suspected
until the damage is done. They usually tunnel
into any object which they attack, often reduc-
ing it to a mere shell. In this way they have
been known to ascend within the leg of a table,
devour the contents of a box upon it, and descend
through a tunnel bored in another leg, all in one
night. An officer of the English army while call-
ing upon some ladies in Ceylon was startled by
a rumbling sound. The ladies started with affright,
and the next instant they stood with only the sky
above them; the roof had fallen in and lay all
about, leaving them miraculously unharmed! The
crash of the fall was.distinctly heard all over the

city. The ants had made their way up through the
beams, hollowing them out until a great part of
the framework of the house was ready to fall at
the slightest shock.
Spiders sometimes are involuntary aerial invad-
ers. Vessels have met them in myriads far out at
sea, floating along suspended from web balloons
of their own construction. They usually start
simply to cross some stream. To accomplish this,
the spider climbs upon a fence, a cliff, or other
prominent object. Then it raises its body in the
air and spins sometimes a single line of silk, some-
times several, so that even when there is no wind,
the upward current of heated air alone is strong
enough to bear away the tiny aeronaut over the
river in its path. Then, perhaps, caught up by
some stronger breeze, it is borne away over hills
and forests far out to sea.
Fishes, too, travel for long distances, even cross-
ing the Atlantic. The shad and herrings pass up
the coast in millions every spring; the vast cod
family move out into deep water in the summer,
and in-shore during the winter. But, like the birds
which take long journeys yearly, the fishes are
nomads rather than invaders.
Often in the late autumn I have observed many
of our Northern birds on the island of Tortugas,
far out in the Gulf of Mexico, showing that they
were moving southward over the sea. The pigeons
present the most remarkable spectacle. Their
columns are often miles in extent, and when
alighting, they break down branches and even
small trees. When in the air, their beating wings
sound like the rushing of a whirlwind; the sun is
darkened, and there seems to be a veritable rain
of birds.
In many other animals is found this strange in-
stinct that often leads them on, they know not
where; perhaps to a better land, or perhaps, as
with the lemmings, to a certain destruction.


BY G. C.

SHALL I go and call them up,- Soon their windows opened wide,
Snowdrop, daisy,.buttercup ?" Everything astir inside;
Lisped the rain; "they 've had a pleasant winter's Shining heads came peeping out, in frill and
nap." cap;
Lightly to their doors it crept, It was kind of you, dear Rain,"
Listened while they soundly slept, Laughed they all, "to come again;
Gently woke them with its rap-a-tap-a-tap: We were waiting for your rap-a-tap-a-tap !
Quickly woke them with its rap-a-tap-a-tap! Only waiting for your rap-a-tap-a-tap! "




" 1--~" "i,- ,- l 0 i 9 -=, -- l

,iB ELL EN.MFI._ ,,HS,


NEARLY a hundred years ago, when your lit-
tle great-grandfather was bedecked with ruffled
breeches and large frilled collars, and your little
great-grandmother's long skirts flapped about her
heels, as did the long skirts of the lady whom
she called "Honored Mamma," there was born
to Great Britain and Ireland a robust princess
named Charlotte Augusta. It was thought that
a lovelier infant never graced the earth, though, to
be sure, her complexion was of a mild scarlet, her
nose was extremely pug, and her hair was chiefly
remarkable for its scantiness. But then, she was
the only child of George, Prince of Wales, the heir
to the English throne. And under all monarchies
it is considered to be a most desirable thing that
there should be an unbroken line of rulers all
eldest children of eldest children. Little Charlotte
was a fat child, with a good loud voice of her own,
and all loyal Britons were filled with rapture at the
thought that some day she would exercise it in
ruling over them.
For eight years Charlotte lived with her mother,
who was a pretty and lively German princess, and
who taught the little thing her letters. When
Charlotte came to cast her letters into syllables,
she had an imposing instructor, a clergyman of
eminent learning and tremendous dignity. When
she Was n't repeating her a-b-abs, she was occu-
pied in committing hymns to memory; so that
when grave and reverend bishops and statesmen
came to see her mother, the baby would perch
on the Princess Caroline's knee, and say her hymns
to their most respectful delight.
She was a generous little lass; and when she was
seven years old she sat herself down and sewed
up with stitches of extraordinary crookedness a
bag to contain the money which she devoted to
the poor. This agreeable bag she called, in the

lofty language of the time, "The purse of the
afflicted." When the British public heard about
this bag, it felt much happiness; and large com-
panies of able-bodied beggars immediately pro-
ceeded to travel in the direction of the house
wherein the young Princess dwelt.
For a person of only seven years' experience,
her good sense was great, whenever her perversity
did not carry her away. Her music-teacher, who
was silly enough to think that a princess without
flattery was like a duck without water, once highly
commended her execution when she herself knew
that it was faulty and deserved no praise at all.
The room was filled with other people who held sim-
ilar opinions about princesses and ducks; and all,
when she appealed to them, declared that her
Royal Highness had played in a manner to ravish
the ears of angels. She knew better, but said no
more at the moment. When Master Teacher came
next morning for a lesson, however, he found his
pay and a discharge ready for him; also a piece
of advice from her little Highness, that he should
never indulge error in a pupil where he was em-
ployed to perfect the unskillful." Thus Charlotte
showed her power of reasoning and her mastery of
the English language, rebuked a flatterer, and pro-
cured for herself a very pleasant little vacation,-
the finding of another suitable teacher being a
work of time and deep British deliberation.
Though she had a bishop to instruct her, she
was'sometimes exceedingly naughty; and if she
had not been a Royal Highness, would have been
well whipped,- a blessing which the lower orders
have always largely enjoyed. This kind and
learned gentleman used often to give her lectures
upon command of the passions, to which she list-
ened sweetly, with the whites of her little eyes
turned up and her little fat hands folded in the




most saintly fashion. But, one day, he was hardly
gone, after delivering a long address on self-gov-
ernment and self-denial, when one of her attend-
ants refused her something she wanted, and made
her, in the language of wicked little girls, "as
mad as hops." "At first," says a person describing
the scene, "she only expostulated strongly"; but
when a hasty and sharp retort was given to some-
thing she herself had said, instantly she turned
the cock of the urn (they were at tea), and filling a
cup with the boiling water, she dashed it full at
the criminal! Mischief was to pay now. The
bishop was sent for.

fishing the sweet acknowledger" for her liberality
with boiling water.
Sometimes, however, she remembered the good
bishop's instructions more than half an hour after
his departure, and commanded her passions in a
more satisfactory manner.
One day, she was going through a desperately
long lesson, and was quite exhausted when her
teacher pronounced the joyful words, "That '11
do." Up bounced Her Royal Highness. Alas!
as I have said, those were the days when little
girls' gowns flapped about their heels. The small
Princess wore a train, and the learned doctor had

Oh, my beloved, is it come to this? Well,
well! I see I must discontinue my advice; that I
see clearly; indeed I must '
No, no; pray don't, my lord! (her eyes
swimming in tears.) 'Indeed, indeed, your lessons
did me good; for them I am much obliged; and'
(trying for a smile) 'somebody else ought to feel
obliged, too; for were it not' (said the sweet
acknowledger) 'for the impressions of your good-
ness, somebody perhaps might not have come off
so easily.' "
That was the way they talked about little prin-
cesses in those days; and nobody thought of pun-

unintentionally placed his foot on it. So when she
bounced up from her chair, her favorite gown by
her own movement was torn obliquely from the
edge to the very top. The venerable doctor suffered
much in his loyal feelings, and declared, for apology
and consolation, that the rent would have been a
small one if it had not fallen in with the direction of
the thread, "whereby," said he, it ran." Then
said the little girl-and all the attendants laughed
and roared when they heard of the witticism :
I am sure, sir, it was none of your fault that
it ran, for certainly you held it." And away she
flew to her play.



She had so extraordinary an affection for the
Latin grammar that she became a model and a
terror to all the schoolboys of the kingdom. She
studied it so energetically that in eighteen months
from the time she began the language she could
translate the Latin Testament with accuracy and
neatness. By way of special pleasure for .Saturday
mornings, she was made to recite from memory
all the lessons of the foregoing week-an amuse-
ment which doubtless often put her in the boiling-
water frame of mind. It was, perhaps, after these
little recitations that she used to torment her timid
attendant, Lady de Clifford. She would bundle
this nice, nervous old lady into her wee carriage,
and then whip up her white ponies, wheeling off
into fields and driving them over all sorts of
heights and hollows at the top of their speed.
Poor Lady de Clifford would cry and scold, with
terrified looks; but naughty Charlotte would only
reply in an affable and patronizing manner:

and lackeys came crowding around, begging to
know what was the matter; and Lady Elgin was
so frightened she could hardly speak. As for the
Princess, she shrieked, and sobbed, and spoiled
her big hat and feathers in trying to hide her head
on her governess's shoulder. When all were
nearly out of their wits with dismay, "Oh! she
cried, "I have beat the turkey-cock! "
There was in the courtyard a turkey-cock of
which she had long been afraid, and which had
many a time put her to flight; but on this occa-
sion the baby Princess, disdaining to run, had
summoned all her courage, and kicked and pum-
meled her enemy until he was glad to escape.
When the British public heard of the turkey-
cock battle, it went about all puffed up with pride,
saying what a great and magnanimous queen this
little pugilist was going to be.
Charlotte loved to be praised, but with discrim-
ination,- which means that she did n't want more

"It is exercise, my Lady, exercise; there is
nothing like exercise."
When Charlotte was a very little creature, the
British public, which has always been very fond
of pluck and valiant deeds, delighted in relating
tales about her courage. For example : her gov-
erness was reading one day, when the door burst
open and her little Highness came rushing in, out
of breath; and gasping, Oh, Lady Elgin Lady
Elgin !" fell into her lap. All the maids of honor

than an inch of marmalade on her bread. When
any of her friends would say, Sweet creature "-
which they very often did, especially if they wanted
her to do them a favor,- she would turn up her
little nose and ask:
"How; why do you call me sweet? I hope
you have no thoughts of eating me."
And if anybody declared she was a good girl,"
she always inquired:
"For what am I good? Tell me first what I




have done to make me good?" Then all the
courtiers who heard her would say to one another,
" What a beautiful thing humility is "
Sturdy Charlotte never became Queen of Eng-
land, for she died when she was a good-humored
young lady of twenty-two; and from one end of
the kingdom to the other the people mourned her
early end. When her insane grandfather, George
III., died, her father became King George IV.,
and an uncommonly bad and stupid king he was;
though his people had a curious way of calling him

the "First Gentleman in, Europe." Then, after
he died, his brother, King William IV., reigned;
and when he departed, their young niece Victoria
ascended the throne which her poor little cousin
Charlotte once hoped to fill. All loyal Britons are
now celebrating Victoria's Jubilee the fiftieth
year of her rule. And a better queen than the
kind Victoria has been it would be hard to find,-
even in the land where good fairies reign, and
their lordships, Mustard-seed and Cobweb, do the



A SHEPHERD boy beneath the pines
That clothe the solemn Apennines.

All through the day he played his pipe,
Or watched the wanderings of his sheep,
Or, when the pine-cone seeds were ripe,
He stored them like a squirrel's heap,
Or, half-awake and half-asleep,
He dreamed among the tangled vines.

Below him, shining in the sun,
Through Vespignano's verdant vale
He saw the slender rivulets run;
Above him, by the day made pale,
The moon, a phantom vessel, sail
Past reefs of cloud in rugged lines.

A shepherd boy beneath the pines
That clothe the solemn Apennines.

Of stray lost sheep or lonely lamb
Sometimes he heard the plaintive bleat.
Then he would answer, Here I am,"
And on his pipe make music sweet,
And run to meet and gladly greet
The animal with friendly signs.

Once, as he sat beside a rock,
For his caress the favorite came,
The gentlest sheep of all the flock,
Shapely of form, full-fleeced and tame;
He stroked her head and spoke her name,
While in his mind grew grand designs.

A shepherd boy beneath the pines
That clothe the solemn Apennines.

' Can I not picture her? he thought.
Then, satisfied with pats and praise,
The sheep a tuft of clover sought,

And with bent head began to graze;
The child, not moving from his place,
Upon the rock drew rapid lines.

A shepherd boy beneath the pines
That clothe the solemn Apennines.

And while the boy was busy still
With pencil made of sharpened slate,
A mounted man rode up the hill,
And seeing the child, he chose to wait
And watch the work for he was great
In art, and knew Art's countersigns.

And when he saw, the task being done,
The sheep depicted faithfully,
Old Cimabue said, "My son,
Will you not come to live with me,
My pupil and my friend to be,
And leave your lonely Apennines ? "

A shepherd boy beneath the pines
That clothe the solemn Apennines.

The boy, all blushing at his words,
Said, "Ah, my master, if I may !
My father, leading home his herds,
Comes even now along the way;
And I must do as he shall say-
His 'yes' accepts, his 'no' declines."

A shepherd boy beneath the pines
That clothe the solemn Apennines.

Right readily the father yields
His son the "yes" othis desire;
And Giotto left his upland fields
With heart and fancy all on fire
To climb the hill of Fame --.far higher
Than any slope of Apennines.





HUM! hum! I 'm coming, coming.
Don't you hear me humming, humming,
Like some distant drummer drumming
His tired troops to sleep?
Rat-tat-tat, and hum-hum-hum,
Near, more near, I come, I come,
With some to dine, to sup with some,
With all a feast to keep.

Hum! hum! I 'm coming, coming.
Don't you hear me humming, humming?
Don't you feel me thrumming, thrumming,
'Round and 'round your head?
I am choosing some fair place
In that field you call your face,
There to rest me for a space,
While supper shall be spread.

Hum! hum! How neat you are !
Hum! hum! How sweet you are !
Hum-m hum-m Too sweet by far !
I '11 dally for a bit.

Try you there, and try you here;
Taste your chin, your cheek, your ear;
And that line of forehead near,
Ere settling down to it.

Hum! hum! You can not say
I sup and dine, and do not pay.
Behind me, when I go away,
Just here, and here, and here,
I '11 leave a tiny, round, bright spot-
A brand-new coin, laid down red-hot,
In full return for all I got.
I pay most dear, most dear.

Hum! hum! I 've supped, and rarely
And you still are sleeping fairly.
Hum-hum-hum! We twain part squarely,
All my dues I pay for.
One more taste, and one more sip,
From your eyelid, from your lip,
Then away I '11 skip-skip-skip -
There 's nothing more to stay for.



THERE are two kinds of war in modern times:
one is begun by governments, and carried on prin-
cipally by armies, and in this the people of the
countries have for the most part little concern;
the other is war in which the people themselves
take an active part. The civil war at the South
was of the latter sort. After it was once begun,
the population of the South were as profoundly
interested as their own government, and bore
as important a part. Nearly every grown white
man in the Southern States was in the ranks;
and the women and children and the few men
who staid at home were, if anything, more ih
earnest than those who belonged to the army.
The population, including the slaves, furnished
supplies of every sort to those at the front: they
made shoes and clothes and sometimes arms; they

plowed and reaped, and ground and baked, and
forwarded food. Without them the armies of the
South could not have been maintained.
The Valley of Virginia was the great farm-
ground and storehouse for Lee's army. It is an
unusually fertile region, two hundred miles long,
and fifty wide, lying between the Alleghany and
the Blue Ridge Mountains, and extending from
the Potomac on the north to the James River
on the south. Here the crops were raised that fed
the defenders of Richmond. Here the saddles
and harnesses for Lee's cavalry were made; here
were the gun-stock factories, the shoe-shops, the
cloth-mills, the furnaces and foundries that fur-
nished his munitions of war. The Valley is full of
good roads along which an army can march rapidly,
and it had been the avenue by which the Southern




commanders had several times invaded the North.
For, walled in by lofty mountains on the right and
left, the Confederates could, at any time, move
suddenly and easily to the Potomac River without
being discovered by the great Union force a hun-
dred miles eastward in Virginia.
In the summer of 1864 Lee sent General Jubal
A. Early northward through this Valley with nearly
thirty thousand men, while all of Grant's army
was engaged before Richmond. The Southern-
ers emerged from the Valley at Harper's Ferry,
entered Maryland, and even penetrated Penn-
sylvania, but finally turned and approached with-
in seven miles of Washington. Their guns could
be heard at the Capitol, and the President could
almost perceive their pickets from the White
House windows. The greatest alarm prevailed at
the North. The President and the Secretary of
War sent urgent messages to Grant, who, how-
ever, knew that this was an attempt of Lee to
divert him from the campaign against Richmond,
and he refused to remove his army to the Potomac.
Washington was well fortified, and Grant did not
think it in serious danger. Nevertheless, he sent
re-enforcements which proved sufficient, and the
Confederates fell back to the point where the Poto-
mac crosses the-northern entrance to the Valley.
There, however, they remained, a menace and
a mortification to the North. Repeated efforts
were made to expel them from the position.
Various commands and commanders were sent
against them, but they held their ground, till
the country became anxious and angry. Finally,
Grant placed General Philip H. Sheridan at the
head of all the troops opposed to Early. Sheri-
dan had never before commanded an independent
army, and the Government was not inclined to
put much confidence in his ability. Grant was
aware of this, and said nothing of his intention to
the President or the Secretary of War. He went
himself to the army in front of Early, and then
sent for Sheridan and placed him in command.
Then he explained to the new general his task.
First of all, Sheridan was to put himself south of
the enemy. This would be sure to dislodge them,
for it would threaten their communications with
their rear; and the great aim of every general in
modern war is to threaten the rear of his enemies,
-to cut-them off from corimunication with their
friends. When you can do this, you have half
won the game. Next, Sheridan was to fight and
follow Early to the death.
"Wherever the enemy goes," said Grant, "let
our troops go also. Once started up the Valley,
they ought to be followed till we get possession of
the Virginia Central Railroad,"- a hundred miles
south of the Potomac River. Next. he was to con-

sume or destroy everything eatable by man or
beast in the Valley.
"Eat out Virginia," said Grant again, "so that
crows flying over it for the balance of the season
will have to carry their provender with them."
The luxuriant harvests of the region, as I have
shown, had filled the storehouses of Richmond.
To obtain these stores and supplies had been one
main object of Early's campaign. Indeed, that
commander used his troops as farmers when they
were not fighting or marching. They reaped
and threshed the grain; and while one portion of
his force was actually engaged in battle, another,
close in the rear, was sometimes grinding corn. The
certainty of obtaining these stores enabled the
Southerners to send troops into the Valley without
provisions, except such as they obtained on their
way or after their arrival. Grant determined to put
an end to all this; to protect Washington; to
drive off the bold antagonist who had alarmed the
North; and quite as important to seize and
strip the rich Valley where that antagonist had
found his supplies; to prevent further invasion by
making it impossible for an army to live in the
region. For the Southerners could send no sup-
plies to the Valley; it was as much as they could
do to feed the troops at Richmond. The Valley
itself was the granary on which they depended,
and when that was exhausted, they had no means
to fill it from the outside.
Now, Grant believed that the war at the South
could not be ended solely by fighting. It was his
policy to destroy whatever supported the armies;
to kill all. the men; to consume all the food, and
to break up all the roads by which further supplies
could be brought. There was plenty of fighting-
as many and fierce battles in the same space of
time as the world ever saw; but the struggle was
between men of the same race, equally brave,
equally in earnest; and the only way to conquer,
according to Grant, was to attack the people as
well as the armies. One great means was the
destruction of the supplies in the Valley of Vir-
ginia. But the supplies were ably and bravely
defended, and before they could be destroyed the
defenders must be beaten. This was Sheridan's
first task.
He was just thirty-three years of age the very
prime of life for a soldier; for after forty no man is
so fit for war as before, so full of spirit and vigor
and endurance-and all these are qualities of mind
or body essential in a great commander. "Old men
for counsel, young men for action," says the
proverb, truly. But Sheridan was not only full of
energy; his judgment was clear, which every one
can see is also important in a general. His decis-
ion too was quick, and this, if possible, is more



important still; for in the turmoil of battle there is
not time to consider long. As well decide wrong,
as decide too late. Sheridan had experience of war,
he had skill, he had undaunted courage. By cour-

on either side in the war had more of this personal
magnetism than Sheridan. In battle, he stood in
his stirrups, waving his hat and brandishing his
sword, and shouting to his men. His eyes flashed,


age I do not mean merely the trait which enables a
man to stand fire without running away, but the
fearlessness to take great risks, to send his men
into battle .knowing that if he lost, he lost all -
his own fame, the lives of his troops, the future,
perhaps, of his country. Many a brave man
shrinks in the presence of such possibilities. But
this sort of daring is indispensable in a great sol-
dier; and this Sheridan possessed.
He also had a sympathetic nature that attracted
men, gave him a great influence over them, and
made them love him and follow him. No soldier

his face shone, and wounded men went on after
they had been shot, because he commanded them.
He ordered the bands to play, and led the front
line himself with the colors in his hand, and the
example was contagious. Such a man was almost
sure to lead his troops to victory.
For six weeks the new commander moved cau-
tiously about at the entrance to the Valley; for
Sheridan was wary as well as active. His force
was little, if any, larger than Early's, and great
things hung on his success. It was important
to give the enemy no chance, yet a single mis-





move might leave open the road to Washington.
Besides this, he was hampered by the fact that
his own movements depended on those of other
armies a hundred miles away. He was to drive
Early, it is true, but, at the same time, to hold
him from rejoining Lee, so that Grant might not
find his enemy too strong in front of Richmond;
for modern war is like a great chess-board, and
Sheridan and Early were the knights in the game,
moving suddenly, leaping, as it were, from one
point to another, but each under the control of a
hand that moved every piece on its own side in
the game.
Finally, the country and the government be-
came impatient, as those often are who look
at war from afar, not knowing the plans or pros-
pects of commanders or, sometimes, the real
situation. Grant therefore went to see Sheridan,

asked Sheridan, on a Friday, if he could be ready
to fight by Tuesday; and Sheridan said he would
be ready by Monday morning. So Grant went
off on Sunday, to let Sheridan fight in his own
way, and get all the glory if he won.
At this very time Early unwisely divided his
army, sending nearly a third to a point some twenty
miles away. Sheridan at once detected the blun-
der, and determined to attack the opposing forces
while they were divided, which is always good strat-
egy. In fact, one great object of generalship is
to divide your enemy, and fall upon one of his
divisions with your own united force. This was
one of Napoleon's frequent maneuvers. But Early
divided his troops himself in the very presence of
The two armies were facing each other, a lit-
tle east of the town of Winchester, and Sheridan


and talked with him of the position of affairs. moved forward the greater part of his comniand,
He took a plan of battle with him, in his pocket, holding one division in reserve, to be used at the
but he found Sheridan understood so well what crisis. Early learned that Grant had been with
he had to do, that he told him to fight as he had Sheridan, and judging from this that a battle was
intended, and never showed him the plan. He probable, recalled the detachment he had sent



away. It returned in the midst of the battle, and
proved an important re-enforcement, driving Sheri-
dan back from the ground he at first had gained.
Then, however, Sheridan brought up his reserves
on his own right, and wheeled them around to
envelop Early's left, while the Northern cavalry
moved at the same time on the opposite flank. The
double force approached with terrible vigor, and the
spectacle to the enemy was tremendous. Crowded
in on both flanks, overlapped on the left, with
Sheridan's cavalry charging into them on the right,
they fell into confusion. Their lines were broken in
every direction, and as Sheridan said in his famous
dispatch, he "sent them whirling through Winches-
ter." Early lost 4500 men, of whom 2500 were
prisoners. The result," said Grant, was such
that I never afterward thought it necessary to visit
Sheridan before giving him orders."
Sheridan pushed on without stopping. There
are generals who are content with winning a vic-
tory. They sit down and rest, and let the enemy
move leisurely off to prepare for another contest.
Such generals may win battles, but they lose cam-
paigns. Sheridan was not of that sort; he chased
Early hard for twenty or thirty miles, which is a
great march for infantry at any time, and after a
battle it was wonderful. But it is surprising what
men can do when they must. A beaten army
under the spur of pursuit can march incredibly
fast; while the victors, enthusiastic and aglow with
success, will make such time as under ordinary cir-
cumstances would be thought impossible. So
Early fled and Sheridan followed nearly thirty
miles in twenty-four hours.
The battle of Winchester lasted till dark on the
19th of September, and on the evening of the 20th
Sheridan came up with Early at Fisher's Hill. At
this point the mountains approach so close that the
Valley is only three miles across; and here behind
a rapid stream, called Tumbling River, the South-
erners had erected a line of breastworks. Early
thought himself so safe with mountains protecting
either flank, and a stream in front, that he un-
loaded his ammunition-boxes and placed them
behind his breastworks. But he did not even yet
know his enemy.
On the morning of the 2Ist, Sheridan began his
preparations for another assault. He liked the
maneuver he had performed at Winchester so well
that he determined to try it again. He concealed
a portion of his command under Crook in the
woods on the western mountain, and at daylight
of the 22d moved ostentatiously forward with his
main body against the enemy's center. While
Early was preparing to resist this advance Sheri-
dan hurled Crook suddenly from the western hills
against the Confederate left. Thus taken in flank,

the Southerners gave way, for no soldiers will long
resist a heavy attack on their flank, which they
can not return-they must fight face to face with
the enemy; and Early's line crumbled under the
assault; Crook was actually behind the defenses.
At the same time Sheridan's center advanced,
and between two fires the Southern army was
almost destroyed. Sheridan took possession of the
works while Early fled in confusion. Sixteen can-
non were left on the ground, and sixteen hundred
prisoners surrendered in the open field. Of those
who fled, many left their muskets behind them.
The rout was complete.
The pursuit continued during the night, and on
the following day Sheridan drove the enemy quite
out of the narrow valley into the gaps of the
Blue Ridge Mountains, while his troops took pos-
session of the country a hundred miles south of the
Potomac River. The effect of these victories was
prodigious. The whole North rang with applause,
and Sheridan became one of the most conspicu-
ous and popular of the Union generals. On the
other hand, Early was censured by Lee; his sol-
diers remained panic-stricken for days, and the
Richmond mob painted on the cannon ordered
to his support, For General Sheridan, care of
General Early."
It was now time for Sheridan to carry out
Grant's second set of orders. He had "followed
the enemy to the death," had "got south of them,"
had driven them out of the coveted region, and re-
lieved the North from all fear of invasion by the
Valley; now he was ready to begin the destruction
of supplies. Grant did not desire to retain a large
force in the Valley, but, in order to make it safe to
withdraw Sheridan, it was necessary to ravage the
country, so that no other Southern army. could
remain there and live. For I can not too often re-
mind young readers that armies must be fed; and
Lee's army was fed from this Valley. It was his
great granary. Sheridan therefore devastated the
whole country between the Blue Ridge and the
Alleghanies. It was very terrible, but it was war;
and the cruelest war is sometimes the most mer-
ciful, for it is surer to be short. One side or the
other must give way.
Accordingly, Sheridan carried off all the cattle,
horses, and mules; he burnt all the mills, as well
as destroyed all the crops, so that not only the
present supplies were annihilated, but it was-im-
possible to raise more; even the negroes were
carried off, that planting might be impracticable,
for there were none but negroes who could plant;
all the white men were in the army. So complete
a destruction of the resources of a country has
hardly been known in modern warfare, but it an-
swered its purpose, and helped to end the war.




The people suffered, but I began by telling that
this was a people's war. The South had a right to
make it such; one can not but admire their pluck
in doing so; but they risked the consequence.
If you deal hard blows, you must expect them.
The Southern people fought the North, and Grant
and Sheridan fought the Southern people as well
as the Southern armies.
But the very success with which this plan was
carried out made it impossible for Sheridan him-
self to remain in the region. All forage and grain
south of him had been sent to Lee; all the rest
Sheridan himself had consumed or destroyed. He
was a hundred miles from his base, and supplies
could not be brought up rapidly enough to enable

Sheridan, meanwhile, had begun his backward
march, "stretching the cavalry across the Valley
from the Blue Ridge to the eastern slope of the
Alleghanies, with directions to burn all forage and
barns, and drive off all stock as they moved." It
was a march of terror to the inhabitants. The
country was literally cleared as with fire, and abso-
lutely nothing was left on the ground for the sub-
sistence of an army. Dwelling-houses, however,
were not burned, and the population were un-
harmed, unless they molested or misled the
On the 9th of October, Early came up with the
cavalry at a place called Tom's Brook, near the
site of the battle of Fisher's Hill; but Torbert, at

.. .... ..-; -"



him to penetrate farther. There was no alternative
but to retrace his steps.
Lee, however, could not yet make up his mind
to abandon this important territory; he deter-
mined to make one more effort to recover it.
Early had not absolutely crossed the Blue Ridge,
but had only fled to its western base, and Lee now
re-enforced him with ten thousand men, and ordered
him to return.
VOL. XIV.-43.

the head of Sheridan's horse, turned and routed
the Southern cavalry, capturing eleven guns, the
forges for the batteries, the wagons for head-
quarters, and everything else that was carried
on wheels. The enemy were followed "on the
jump" twenty-six miles, over a mountain and
across a river. Sheridan had now captured thirty-
six cannon since the 19th of September. Some
of this artillery was new and had never been



used. It had evidently just been sent from Rich-
mond, "for General Sheridan, care of General
After this affair, the victorious general continued
his northward march. Early remained quiet for
several days after his third defeat, and then fol-
lowed at a respectful distance. On the i3th of
October, Sheridan was summoned to Washington
by the Secretary of War, who desired to consult
him about the further movements of the.campaign.
On the 15th he started for the capital, leaving his
army, under the command of General Wright,
intrenched on the northern side of Cedar Creek,
a stream that runs entirely across the Valley, near
Strasburg and Fisher's Hill.
Early, meanwhile, was preparing for a desperate
effort, and on the night of the I8th of October,

-1 A

--~ -- _


he moved against Sheridan's army. Crossing the
river in the darkness, he crept unobserved under
the Union guns, attacked the army at day-break,
and drove in the left; capturing eighteen guns and
a thousand prisoners. This part of the command
was absolutely routed. The right remained un-
broken, but the whole army was forced back a
distance of six or seven miles; many of the troops
were in a deplorable condition, the infantry not
even keeping together as companies. It was a
mob, not an army.
Sheridan had left Washington on the morning
of the 18th, by train, and passed the night at
Winchester, twenty miles north of the battle-field.
On the morning of the 19th, he heard the firing
of cannon, and sent out to inquire the cause, but
was told it came from a reconnaissance. At nine

o'clock he rode leisurely out of Winchester, not
dreaming that his army was in danger. After a
little, he heard again the sound of heavy guns,
and now he knew what it must mean. Not half a
mile from Winchester he came upon the appalling
marks of defeat and rout. The runaways from
the battle, still in flight, had got so far as this in
their terror. The trains of wagons were rushing
by, horses and drivers all in confusion, for there is
no worse turmoil in this world than the flight and
wreck of a beaten army. Sheridan had never seen
his own men in this condition before.
He at once ordered the trains to be halted, and
sent for a brigade of troops from Winchester; these
he posted across the road to prevent further strag-
gling. Then he called for an escort of twenty men,
and, directing his staff to stem the torrent as well as
they could, he set off himself for
the battle-field. He rode straight
into the throng of fugitives, in a
splendid passion of wrath and
determination, spurring his horse
and swinging his hat as he passed,
and calling to the men:
"Face the other way, boys!
Face the other way "
Hundreds turned at the appeal,
and followed him with cheers, for
they all knew Sheridan.
It was ten o'clock before he
reached the field. There he rode
about hurriedly, glanced at the
position, and at once determined
upon his course. Here-arranged
the line of those who were still
unbeaten, and then went back to
bring up the panic-stricken re-
mainder. And now his presence
and personal influence told. He
was in the full uniform of a major-
general, mounted on a magnificent black horse,
man and beast covered with dust and flecked
with foam; he rose again in his stirrups, he drew
his sword, he waved his hat, and shouted to his
If I had been here, this never would have hap-
pened. Face the other way, boys! We are going
back "
The flying soldiers were struck with shame
when they heard him shout and saw his face blazing
with rage and courage and eagerness for them.
They took up his cry themselves, "Face the
other way It went on from one to another for
miles from crowd to crowd and they obeyed
the command. As the swelling shout went on, the
surging crowd returned. They faced the other
way, and, along the very road which a cower-




ing mob had taken three hours before, the same
men marched, with the tread of soldiers, to meet
the enemy. They knew now that they were led
to victory.
He led them to their place; he re-formed the
whole line, and a breastwork of rails and logs
was thrown up -just in time. As Sheridan reached
the front he could see the enemy moving to the
attack; but now he was prepared. The assault was
heavy, but the men stood their ground, and this time
it was Early's troops that broke. Then Sheridan
advanced, and over the same ground where his
army had been defeated in the morning, he pursued
a shrinking enemy; recaptured everycannon that
had been lost, drove the Southerners across the
creek, found a ford where the river turned, got
among the wagons and made the pursuit a rout.
Early tried to rally his men at Fisher's Hill, where
he had fought a few days before, but all in vain :
there was no organization left; he could not form
them into line. Two thousand made their way to
the mountains, and for ten miles the road was cov-
ered with small arms, blankets, knapsacks, and
wounded men -the fragments of a flying army.
Sheridan captured twenty-four pieces of artillery,
besides all that had been lost in the morning; six-
teen hundred prisoners were taken ; and Early lost
eighteen hundred and sixty killed and wounded.
His command was in worse condition than at
Winchester or Fisher's Hill.

This battle ended the campaign in the Valley;
the Southerners never again attempted to invade
the North, and Sheridan's men marched in what-
ever direction they chose, for there was no one to
oppose them. The country was so bare that not
a thousand men could have found forage west
of the Blue Ridge, and Lee abandoned all hope of
retaining or recovering the region. Shortly after
this, he broke up Early's army, leaving him only
one division of infantry and the cavalry. Early,
indeed, was never intrusted with an important
command again. As it was unnecessary for Grant
to retain any large force in the Valley, the greater
part of Sheridan's army was sent elsewhere.
It was only eleven weeks since Sheridan had
entered the Valley, and in this period he had
fought three pitched battles, besides directing an
important cavalry encounter,- and every one was
a complete victory. He had captured sixty guns
in the open field, and retaken eleven at Cedar
Creek; he sent to Washington forty-nine battle-
flags of the enemy, and his officers took the names
of thirteen thousand prisoners. Early must have
lost at least as many more men in killed and
wounded, while his deserters and stragglers filled
the forests and farm-houses of the Valley.
The object of the campaign was as thoroughly
accomplished as in any series of movements in the
war, and Sheridan will always be known in his-
tory as the Hero of the Valley.






IKEY was in great distress of mind when he saw
by the movements of the officers that the court
was about to be opened, and Duddy had not put
in an appearance. He had an idea that Pinney's
case would be the first one disposed of, and he
brought himself to believe that his brother direc-
tor would be tried, convicted, sentenced, and sent,
to prison before the arrival of their lawyer.
It was while he was racking his brain in vain to
find some excuse for Duddy's prolonged absence,
that the prisoners were brought into the cage
which is dignified by the name of "dock," and then
it was that Ikey saw his friend. Poor Pinney!
He was driven in with a crowd of men and women,
much as if he was one of a flock of sheep, and
he looked thoroughly wretched. His face and
hands were grimy, his clothing dusty, his hair
tangled, and the course of the tears down his
cheeks showed plainly where the dirt had been
washed away in tiny stripes. As he entered the
room he looked eagerly about until he saw Ikey,
'who winked vigorously in greeting; and then he
turned his head as if he were ashamed of the com-
pany he was in, as well as of himself.
It was in vain that Master Jarvis went through a
series of pantomimic gestures intended to convey
to the prisoner the fact that all the boys were work-
ing to aid him; for Pinney persistently refused to
look toward his friend again, very much to Ikey's
Not until after several cases had been disposed
of did Duddy finally make his appearance, fol-
lowed by a pleasant-looking, elderly gentleman;
and from the smile on Master Foss's face, it was
evident that he was highly elated with his success
in finding a lawyer.
I 've found a regular swell! he whispered to
Ikey as he tried to crowd himself into the few
inches of space his friend had been working hard
to reserve for him. "I went to see as many as
twenty, but they would n't have anything to say
to me; so I walked 'way down town to a man I
sell papers to; he made me tell him everything
first-that 's what kept me so long-an' then
he said he guessed he could fix it up all right.
I would n't wonder if he went in an' yanked Pinney
out the very first thing."

Ikey looked earnestly at the gentleman a few
moments, and seeing that he showed no disposi-
tion to "yank" Pinney from among the other
prisoners, he whispered:
Did you give him the money?"
"No; he said he 'd wait to see what he could
do, before he took it."
"Does he know that we '11 pay all he wants, if
he gets Pinney out o' the scrape ?"
Of course I told him that before he came
Much to the surprise and disappointment of both
boys, the lawyer did not exert himself as they had
expected. Instead -of demanding at once that
Pinney be discharged, and appearing angry because
the lad had been arrested, he walked behind
the railing where the court officers were seated,
and entered into conversation with them.
"I don't believe he 's goin' to do a thing," Ikey
whispered indignantly.
He 's not worth much," replied Duddy with a
look of painful surprise. I thought he' d clean
the whole place out; he acts as if he did n't care
a cent what happens."
Before Ikey could reply, Tom arrived with
another handful of pennies, which he delivered to
the treasurer.
Did you find a lawyer ? he asked.
Yes; there he is over there," said Duddy,
pointing to where the gentleman, whom he be-
lieved was neglecting his business, had seated
Why don't he go to work an' get Pinney out ?"
Tom asked, after he had taken a deliberate survey
of the legal gentleman.
* "That's jest what we don't know," answered
Duddy uneasily. He told me he 'd see to every-
thing, an' now he 's talking' to the fellers behind
the railin' as chipper as if they were chums o' his.
I wish I 'd got somebody else."
Greatly as the boys regretted the inactivity of
the lawyer whom they had employed, they knew
very well that it was too late to try to get another,
and Duddy settled himself back into the very
narrow portion of bench allotted him, feeling
that poor Pinney's case was now hopeless indeed.
It was while Tom was trying to decide whether he
would better show the second handful of pennies as
a means of arousing the attorney into some deci-
sive action, that the name of Alpenna White was
called; and little Pinney, escorted by a very



large policeman, was led in front of the judge's
Tom, Duddy, and Ikey did their best to hear
what was said, but it was impossible for them to
distinguish a word. And it did not in the least
appear as if the lawyer was trying to effect
Pinney's release. On the contrary, he seemed to
be chatting pleasantly with the judge on some
subject that had no connection with the discharge
of the weeping and thoroughly frightened board-
ing-house director.
It was not many moments, however, before they
learned that the lawyer was really doing what he
had promised; for suddenly the conversation
ceased, and one of the officers asked:
Is Isaac Jarvis in the room ? "
Now, of course Ikey was there; but his attention
was so closely devoted to Pinney, and the name
of Isaac was so unfamiliar to him, that he made
no reply, for the simple reason that he had not
the slightest idea that they were speaking of or
to him.
The officer repeated the question; but none of
the three directors of Jenny's boarding-house gave
any heed to it, until Pinney cried out:
"Ikey! Ikey! Why don't you come up
here ? "
Master Jarvis was on his feet in an instant,
looking quite as frightened as the prisoner, and
wholly at a loss what to do.
Come this way," said the judge; and with his
knees very shaky, and his lips rather pale, Ikey
walked toward the witness-stand. He recovered
his composure somewhat when he saw that both
the judge and the lawyer were regarding him
Were you with the prisoner yesterday after-
noon ? asked the judge.
It was several seconds before Master Jarvis
understood that Pinney was the person referred
to, and then he succeeded in saying, in a rather
awkward fashion:
Yes; you see, I had to be with him 'cause I'm
the treasurer, an' I had to pay the money."
"Pay what money ?" asked the judge, looking
quite surprised at what appeared to be a new
phase in the case.
"Why, the money for November," and Ikey
was astonished that the officers of the court were
not better informed regarding the matter.
"What reason had you for paying money in
November ?" asked the lawyer.
"Well, you see he was very sick; any way,
that 's what Jenny said, and we fellers raised
money to buy the stuff that Pinney said would
cure him."
"Who is Pinney ?" asked the judge.

Duddy started to his feet, thoroughly astonished
at this singular condition of affairs- the officers
of the court were actually ignorant of the name of
their prisoner 1
"There he is!" said Ikey, pointing to the sor-
rowful-looking boy, who seemed even smaller than
usual by contrast with the huge officer.
Duddy sat down again.
And who is November? "
"He's the baby we found on the doorstep,
when we first opened the boardin'-house."
Now tell us just what you did yesterday after-
noon," said the judge, -who thought it desirable to
arrive at the facts of the case before the witness
had time to introduce any more characters into
his story.
We were doin' nothing 'cause first the baby
was sick, an' then Pinney was 'rested. An' I 've
done nothing' to-day, 'cause I had to come here
with Duddy."
"You were with the prisoner a short time before
he was arrested, were you not ?" the lawyer asked.
"I went with him to get our money for the
medicine that Jenny's mother would n't let us give
November; but when we had a chance to earn
a dollar for doin' a errand, I went where the other
fellers was, so 's to tell 'em that Pinney would
give back what they 'd put up for the stuff. You
see, it was n't any good, an' Pinney was going' to lose
it all himself, 'cause he 'd been the one that
wanted the rest of us to buy it."
Ikey had lost his diffident manner, and spoke
very rapidly until he saw that many in the room,
even including the judge, were laughing; then
he stopped suddenly, his face growing quite red.
"Tell us about the prisoner's going on this
errand you speak of. Who -- "
I don't know anything' 'bout that," interrupted
Ikey; "'cause, you see, I had to hold the bottle
an' let the other fellers know where Pinney was.
Sam says "
"Never mind about anybody but the prisoner."
The lawyer seemed to be trying to keep from
laughing and to look stern at the same time.
"Who asked the prisoner to do the errand ?"
I don't know who he was. I never saw him
before. The man that sold the medicine would
n't give the money back, an' I know Pinney did n't
get the dollar, 'cause if I had the bottle, how
could he get it ? "
Now, answer my questions, Isaac, and don't
try to tell your story until we are ready to hear it."
This time the lawyer spoke so gravely that Master
Jarvis was silenced at once. Who asked Pinney
to do the errand? Was it a man or a woman?
And what was said? "
"There was n't anything' said," replied Ikey,



looking as solemn as possible, but fully determined
to prove at the first opportunity that Pinney did
not receive any money from the druggist. We
was jest walking' along when the man asked us if
we wanted to earn a dollar, an' Pinney jumped for
the chance, 'cause, you see, that was jest what the
medicine cost, an' the man had said he would n't
give us the money back, anyhow."
By this time nearly every one in the court-room,
except the prisoner and his friends, appeared to be
very much amused, and it was some moments
before the examination could be proceeded with.
But after one of the court officers had loudly com-
manded silence, the lawyer asked :
Do you know why the prisoner was arrested?"
I know he did n't get the money back from
the man, 'cause I had the bottle all the time, so
how could he ? "
Ikey was thoroughly in earnest in his effort to
prove that Pinney did not receive the money from
the druggist, and was totally at a loss to under-
stand why it was that every one seemed to think
so serious a matter comical.
Let me explain the case, and then perhaps
we can persuade you to drop the question of medi-
cine," said the judge. Pinney has been arrested
for having stolen goods in his possession, and all
we want to know from you is what passed between
him and the person who hired him to do the
errand. Tell us all that was said or done at the
time you left him."
Ikey was bewildered. He had fully made up
his mind that the arrest had been caused in
some way by the attempt to get back the money
which had been paid for the medicine. It was
difficult for him to realize that that transaction
had nothing to do with Pinney's imprisonment.
After many questions had been asked, Ikey
succeeded in relating the facts concerning Pinney's
employment by the stranger; and then the witness
was allowed to go back to his seat, while the case
was continued in the same quiet and confidential
manner in which it had begun. The boys could
not understand what was going on; but, from
what they had already heard, they concluded that
the gentleman whom they had employed to defend
Pinney was really doing his duty.
After a short time the directors could see that
the judge was questioning the prisoner; and in a
few moments more they were astonished and over-
joyed at seeing Alpenna White walk out from
behind the railing-a free boy. It is really surpris-
ing that they did not forget where they were, and
give vent to their joy in cheers.
Eager to get away from everything that would
serve to remind him of his imprisonment, Pinney
walked out of the court-room as rapidly as possible,

as if he was afraid some one might attempt to
carry him back to the jail. His three friends fol-
lowed him closely; and once out of doors, they
made up for their enforced silence in the court-
room by shouting and yelling in a manner that
was truly deafening.
"Let's march him down town so's all the
fellers can see him," suggested Tom, as he seized
Pinney by the arm; "then we '11 go home an'
give him about as high a time as he ever had."
How is November ? asked Pinney, resisting
Tom's efforts to drag him along, and speaking for
the first time since he had been released.
He 's getting' better, an' I guess he '11 be jest
as bright as ever in a day or two. But, come on!
Let 's find the other fellers," cried Tom, grabbing
Pinney's right arm.
"See here, are you goin' off without squarin'
things with the lawyer?" asked Duddy, as he
clutched Pinney by the left arm, pulling as hard in
one direction as Tom did in the other.
Gracious! I forgot all about him," exclaimed
He '11 be out pretty soon, an' then we '11 know
how much we've got to pay. I 'm going to have
him come up to the house some night to dinner,
'cause he made me tell him all about it, an' asked
particularly after Jenny."
Neither of the directors had an opportunity to
protest against such hospitality on the part of
Duddy, even had they been so disposed; for at
that moment the gentleman came down the steps.
While he was yet some distance away, Ikey cried:
"Say, Mister, how much do we owe you for
getting' Pinney out ?"
"How much money have you?" asked the
gentleman with a kindly smile.
I don't know exactly; but you sit down on the
steps an' we '11 count it. If there is n't enough here
we can get more from the fellers."
That's what I said," and Duddy spoke a trifle
impatiently. "Jest count him out what you 've
got, an' he '11 tell us how much more he wants."
"You need n't take that trouble," said the
lawyer, who evidently did not intend to accept
Ikey's invitation to sit on the steps. "You shall
pay me by bringing the morning papers to my
office every day for a week. That will satisfy all
of us, I fancy."
"Do you mean that's all the pay you'want? "
Duddy looked really disappointed because the
price was so ridiculously small.
"You will need all your money to get your
boarding-house well started, and it would be hardly
right for me to take anything more than the papers
for what I have done, since your friend would have
been released even if I had not been here to de-


fend him.. The judge has taken his address, and
he may be called upon to identify the man who
sent him on the errand, in case the police succeed in
capturing the rogue. You need not be frightened
if an officer should come after him and your treasurer
some day."
Say, mister," said Ikey, with a look of perplex-
ity, "won't you tell us what Pinney was 'rested
for? I thought it was 'cause he tried to get the
money back for the medicine."
"The man you met on the street hired him to
carry some stolen papers to the owner, who had
advertised for them, and who had promised a
reward. The man hired Pinney because he was
afraid that the officers were watching for him. He
made his escape when he saw that the police had
done such a bungling piece of work as to arrest
the innocent messenger, instead of waiting until
the thief had come to receive the money which
the owner of the papers was to pay. Pinney had
done nothing wrong; he was simply unfortunate
in having been selected as a messenger by the rogue.
Here is my card. Bring me the morning papers
for a week, and some day, when we all have leisure,
come and tell me how the boarding-house prospers."
Before the boys had time even to thank him, the
lawyer walked rapidly away, leaving Duddy trying
to spell out the address that was printed in curiously
formed letters on a small oblong of pasteboard :

JF. i). Sarailtol'

241 Broadway.

"I can't seem to get the hang of that kind of
printin'," said Duddy; "but, whatever his name
is, he 's a good feller, an' if he don't get papers for
more 'n a week, it '11 be 'cause I 've forgotten how
to d'liver'em."
"We '11 take turns carrying' 'em to him all
winter," said Tom with excitement. "An' if he
will come up to the house to dinner, we '11 s'prise
him with the good things that we '11 set up. Now
come down town, 'cause all the fellers will be want-
in' to know if Pinney 's out."
The boys started off at full speed, the look of
fear rapidly disappearing from Master White's
face as he left the gloomy Tombs building behind
him. In a short time they were the center of an
admiring and curious crowd, every one of whom
was asking questions in his loudest tones, until it
was impossible to distinguish a single word, so
great was the confusion.

WHEN the curiosity of the newsdealers had been
in a measure satisfied, Master White's greatest
desire was to go home; for he not only wanted to
see November, but he was anxious to prove to
Mrs. Parsons and Jenny that he was not guilty of
the charge upon which he had been arrested. But
when he tried to slip quietly away with Ikey and
Tom, he found that his newsboy friends and
acquaintances had no idea of parting with him so
soon. They at once made known their intention
of accompanying him to Jenny's boarding-house,
much to the disgust of all the stockholders, who
had every reason to believe that Mrs. Parsons
would not be particularly well pleased at seeing so
many visitors. Pinney could not protest against
such a mark of attention, since it was to be done
in his honor; but Duddy said promptly:
"Pinney wants you all to go up with him, of
course; but you see he can't ask you to come
inter the house, 'cause November 's sick."
"We '11 'scort him up to the house, any
way," replied one of his admiring friends; and
Pinney could only submit with the best grace
When the party first set out, there was a faint
attempt to form a regular line of march; but,
owing to the crowds on the sidewalks, the boys
were obliged to move along as best they might,
and looked decidedly more like a mob than a
triumphal procession. Most of them were feeling
very happy over Pinney's fortunate escape; and,
although they did not realize it, they were making
a terrible din when they arrived in front of the
Had Pinney come alone, or with only one or two
of his friends, Mrs. Parsons would have shown how
delighted she was at his release, for the old lady
had a real affection for the boy whose zeal so often
got him into trouble. But she had just succeeded
in rocking November to sleep; the noise which
the boys outside were making caused her to feel
slightly provoked; and what she said when Pinney,
Duddy, and the other directors entered the room,
was: "So you succeeded in getting into another
scrape, did you?"
"'Yes 'm," replied Pinney meekly; "but I
had n't done anything wrong, so the judge let me
"Of course you had n't done wrong," exclaimed
Jenny. Mother don't mean anything when she
talks like that, for she 's as glad as I am to see
you back safe and sound."
"Yes, I 'm glad to see you back again, Pinney
White," said the old lady, looking doubtfully over



her spectacles at the crowd of boys outside. I
don't believe you would, on purpose, do anything
to be arrested for, but you certainly manage to get
into more trouble than any boy I ever saw."
"I s'pose I do," was the reply.
Then Jenny insisted on knowing the particulars

'em ? said Duddy, glancing apprehensively toward
the door of the sitting-room as he spoke. Novem-
ber's loud cries proved that the inmates of the
front room had heard the uproar; and the hearts
of the directors sunk at the scolding in store for
them from the old lady.


of the arrest and trial; and Ikey, Tom, and Pinney
all began to tell the story, making such an uproar
that Mrs. Parsons sent them into the kitchen lest
they should awaken November. They finally suc-
ceeded in quieting down sufficiently to give a co-
herent account of the day's events, and Jenny was
about to have a business chat with them, when all
were startled by a loud and prolonged shout from
the outside.
"That 's the fellers, an' what shall we do with

"What are they waiting out there for?" asked
Jenny, in surprise.
"Well, you see, they scoredd Pinney 'round
here," said Duddy, in explanation; "an' I s'pose
they think they oughter be asked in."
"Won't they go away pretty soon ?" askedJenny.
"I guess not," Duddy said, very decidedly.
"They 've been wantin' to see the baby ever since
we found him, an' they think that this is a good



' iij'i(i 'r ir .


Those on the outside set up another shout at
this moment, and it was easy to judge, from the
noise they made, that they were impatient at being
left out of doors so long.
Can't we let 'em in jest for a minute?" asked
Jenny ventured into the front room, and when
she came out again she looked considerably
Mother says that since they 've waked Novem-
ber, they may as well come in; but you must n't
let them stay very long, or the baby might get
"I '11 drive 'em out when you give the word,"
said Sam, arousing for the first time that day into
something like his old officiousness.
Duddy acted the part of host by opening the
street door and shouting:
You 've waked the baby up, an' now you may
as well come in an' look at him; but Mrs. Parsons
says you must n't stay very long."
The eager crowd did not wait for a more urgent
invitation, and trooped into the house with enough
noise for a party ten times as large; but they
halted, as one boy, when the old lady met them
with a severe look over the top of her spectacles,
as they entered the sitting-room. She knew that
she must exhibit that baby before she could hope
for peace; and she stood in the center of the room
with November held out at arms-length, wishing
very much that the ordeal were over.
The boys gazed at the baby as if he was a
natural curiosity, some going so far as to touch
him gently with one finger; but most of them
kept cautiously out of reach of Mrs. Parsons's hand.
Not a word was spoken by any one during the
entire ceremony; but when it was ended, the guests
showed no disposition to leave the house, and
stood looking at one another as if they expected
to be yet further entertained. Sam saw an op-
portunity to show that he was at least a partial
master of the establishment.
Come right out here if you want to see what
kind of a place we 've got," he said, pompously
leading the way into the kitchen, while the old
lady looked with no kindly eye at the quantity of
snow and mud that the visitors had brought into
the room.
Jenny was much disconcerted by the introduc-
tion of the strange boys into the kitchen, but Sam
gave no heed to her uneasiness. He showed the
guests all the unfurnished as well as the furnished
rooms, called particular attention to the rules on
the wall,- taking good care, however, not to say
for which one he was responsible,- and in every
possible way acted the part of host to the entire
satisfaction of himself, if of no one else.

The other directors followed their visitors about,
answering questions and pointing out the general
advantages of the building, but not caring to appear
too prominent in the matter. After the house had
been thoroughly inspected, and the guests were
about to take their departure, Sam said, as if the
idea had just occurred to him:
If you fellers will hold on a little while, I '11
have Jenny get a bang-up dinner, an' then you
can see how well we live."
As a matter of course, every boy in the party
was only too willing to accept the invitation, and
the directors were looking at one another in
speechless astonishment, when from the sitting-
room Mrs. Parsons called out sharply:
Pinney White, are you asking all those boys
to dinner?"
I was n't a-sayin' a word," replied Pinney
quickly, thinking it hard, indeed, that he should
be accused of every disagreeable thing.
I am goin' to let 'em see what kind of a dinner
Jenny can cook," Sam said loftily, as if asking
twenty or thirty boys to dine with him was a
trifling matter.
Indeed, you are going to do nothing of the
kind," exclaimed the old lady, now evidently very
angry. And the guests, alarmed by the sharp
tone of her voice, declined the invitation in a very
practical manner by fleeing precipitately from the
house. They halted about a block away, when
Jeppy Jones said, with a sigh of relief:
She ain't as sweet as candy, an' that's a fact! "
At the house, the directors were gathered in the
kitchen like criminals, waiting for the old lady to
pass judgment upon them; but she was quite her
old pleasant self again, as soon as the guests had
taken their hurried departure. She spoke so kindly
to Pinney about his release from prison that Sam
silently resolved to give her a happy surprise some
day by bringing a small and select party of boys-
say about a dozen -home to dinner.
Jenny soon called the.attention of the directors
to business, by saying:
"Now that Pinney is out of his trouble, and the
baby is nearly well, we must try to furnish another
room; for the more boarders we can take, the
more money we can make."
It seems to me that you 're allers talking' 'bout
money," said Sam petulantly. "With what we've
given, I could 'a' started a house twice as large as
We 've given! repeated Tom impatiently. I
s'pose you think you 've put in all you agreed to,
don't you?"
"Well, I 've come pretty near it," and Sam
assumed his most impressive manner. I 've
paid as much as you have, any way."



"Ikey, how do the 'counts stand?" asked
The treasurer, after some trouble, owing to his
many pockets, succeeded in finding his book,
which began to look rather the worse for wear;
and after a severe mental and digital calculation,
he replied:
In the first place, we owe for a week's board.
I 've paid my dollar for it; but the rest have n't
squared up yet. Then on the ten dollars every one
was to put in, Jack owes two thirty-nine, an' Sam
has only paid four eighty, and two dollars of that
I lent him. Tom an' Pinney an' I have given
Jenny our share."
"I 've paid as much as anybody else. You 've
forgot to put it down if it ain't there," said Sam in
a reproachful tone. "What about the money
I gave this morning' to help Pinney outer the
scrape ? "
You put in jest seven cents," said Tom. "We
did n't have to use it, an' here 's your cash."
A broad smile greeted the announcement of
Master Tousey's contribution; but Pinney has-
tened to say:
"We 'll get more money by to-morrow, an'
p'r'aps Sam '11 have some, too, by that time."
"If he has n't, he 's got to sell his share in the
house !" Tom spoke very decidedly.
I would n't turn him out," said Jenny quickly.
"You know he did really help start the house, and
it does n't seem fair."
"I think he ought to pay up or leave," said
Ikey in a matter-of-fact tone. "He won't work,
that's what 's the matter."
"Well, s'pose I don't want to work, whose busi-
ness is it ? "asked Sam.
"It 's our business if you don't pay what you
owe," said Tom, quietly but firmly.
S'posen I want to sell my share, who 's got the
money to pay me ?" inquired Sam, with the air of
a millionaire capitalist.
Duddy Foss '11 take it any time," declared the
treasurer. "He said so. You owe Ikey two dol-
lars, an' Jenny a dollar for board, so that would
leave only one eighty coming' to you."
Sam hesitated; he knew that Duddy could buy
him out, and he felt that he must work or sell.
I '11 tell you to-morrow what I '11 do," he said
sulkily, and left the house, slamming the street
door behind him.
We 'd better all go down town, if we expect
to get any money for Jenny," suggested Tom.
" Come on, fellers, an' let's make up for the time
we lost this morning."
The other boys followed Tom out of the room,
and Jenny was left to plan how she would furnish
the remainder of her boarding-house.

When the directors came home at night they
were in the best of spirits. Business had been
good during the afternoon, and even Sam had
been successful; but since he did not offer to pay
any portion of his indebtedness, the others con-
cluded that he had decided to sell his boarding-
house stock to Duddy.
When the household retired to rest, all, with
the possible exception of Master Tousey, felt that
they were on the high road to success.
The city clocks were striking the hour of mid-
night, when Tom was suddenly aroused with a
queer sensation in his throat and lungs. Sitting
bolt-upright in bed, he tried to understand why
he was awake. He could hear no unusual noise;
his room-mates' heavy breathing told that they
were wrapped in slumber. He was beginning to
believe that he had been startled by some vivid
dream, when he became aware that his eyes were
smarting severely, and in a second he knew by
the odor and his difficulty in breathing that the
room was full of smoke. He wondered why a fire
had been left in the stove, got out of bed grum-
bling at somebody's carelessness, and started for
the kitchen to fix the draft.
He could now hear a strange, crackling sound,
and the handle of the kitchen door was hot as he
tried to turn it. Only by exerting all his strength
could he force the door open; and as it swung on
its hinges, a mass of flame appeared to dart from
the very center of the room.
"Fire Fire!" he shouted, as he ran back
and shook his companions to arouse them, and
then rushed to Mrs. Parsons's room, and hurried
upstairs where the boarders were sleeping.
From the time Tom had awakened until every
one in the building was aroused, hardly more
than two minutes had elapsed; yet in those few
seconds the flames, favored by the open doors,
had made such progress that it seemed as if the
whole interior of the house was on fire.
"Save the furniture Tom shouted, as he saw
the directors rushing out of doors with some of
their clothing under their arms; we can get
some of the things out if we work quick "
This appeared to bring Ikey and Pinney to a
portion of their senses, at least, and they halted in
the open doorway to put on some of their clothing;
while Tom darted into the clouds of smoke that
filled the directors' sleeping-room, after his own
garments. He found it impossible to enter even
so far as the bed. Blinded, half-suffocated, and
nearly overcome by the heat and vapor, he stag-
gered back into the hallway just as Duddy leaped
down nearly the entire flight of stairs, with several
articles of wearing apparel in his arms.
"Where 're your clothes? he asked.



In there," Tom stammered as he reeled toward
the street door.
"Put these on," cried Duddy as he threw a pair
of trousers over Tom's shoulders, and flung the
remainder of his burden out of doors.
By this time Ikey and Pinney were trying to save

able articles of the not very expensive furniture; but
as they threw nearly everything out of the window,
they caused nearly as much damage as the fire.
It was not for many moments that the directors
could continue their almost useless labor, for the
flames were sweeping through the rooms with a

... ...,


some of the household goods, and had started for fury that seemed resistless, and the boys were soon
the landlady's room, as Mrs. Parsons and Jenny, forced to retreat to the sidewalk, where, with the
the former carrying November and the latter with remainder of the family and a rapidly gathering
her arms full of clothing, came running out. crowd, they stood silently and sorrowfully witness-
The boys worked with will to save the most valu- ing the destruction of Jenny's boarding-house.
(To be continued.)




THERE is nothing sadder or more desolate than
to be a stray dog in a great city like London.
You may think you have seen trouble and been
miserable; but listen to me, and you '11 soon see
that your trials have been nothing to mine. There
never was a more pampered pet than I was; and
I thought I had a right to be spoiled, being a
thoroughbred fox terrier of perfect pedigree and
good habits. I had no faults except yielding to a
strong temptation to nip the cat a little when she
put her back up at me. I was owned by the prettiest
lady in London, and was exercised every day by
either the footman or my mistress herself, with a
sharp eye kept on me, lest any of those wicked dog-
stealers should whip me up, and run off with me.

My only sorrow was, that I could not always
make myself understood. Why parrots and
magpies (horrid things !) should be gifted in the
conversational line above their betters, I can't
Mag would sit in her cage and croak, "Wake
up !" as distinctly as a human being.could speak;
and my mistress would laugh and say, "Is n't she
clever?" But when I barked and thought I was
saying real words (only she could n't understand),
she would cry, Be quiet !" and give me a tap on
the ear. That seemed unjust to me.
One day in summer, my mistress came down-
stairs, with her coat and hat on, and took me up
in her arms and kissed me. I licked her face and
wagged my tail, thinking I was going for a drive,
for I saw the brougham standing at the door.
But she dropped a tear on my head, and said:
Oh, John, I can't bear to leave him "
Then Master said, "Nonsense, my dear, the
cook will look after him." And they went away,
my dear mistress looking back and saying, "Be
a good dog till I come home!"
All this took me by surprise, and I felt very mis-
erable. The tears came to my eyes, and I turned
away for fear that hateful cat should see me cry-
ing; for if she had, she might have plucked up
heart to scratch me in return for all my sly nips.
Well, I lay for some time thinking how lonely I
should be with only old Mouser (that was Mrs.
Puss's name) and cook, both of whom I hated.
Presently I decided to start off when no one was
looking, and follow my mistress. I was younger
and more foolish then than now, and did not
consider what a large place London was. I had
a keen nose, and thought I could track my lady,
with the help of my eyes and nose.
So I waited my chance. Presently the parlor-
maid came downstairs. She opened the door, and
before she could say knife !" I was off like a shot,
down the street. She called after me like a crazy
person, but nobody minded her, and I ran till my
breath was nearly gone. Then I sat down and
rested awhile. But a man with a dirty necker-
chief on, and a bad eye, came sidling up to me,
and said, "Come here, sir," in a soft, enticing
voice. I knew he was a dog-stealer; for I had seen
his like before; so I scuttled off again, and in my
fright forgot to notice which way I went.
Then I began to look and nose about. I could
find no lady who had a face like that of my dear






mistress. People looked at me; the ladies said
"What a dear little fox terrier!" and one gentle-
man stopped and bent down to see if I had a
collar on. When I ran out I had just been washed,
and so I had left it at home. Presently I got into
a part of the town where there were lots of pale
little children playing and fighting on the side-
walk. Some horrid boys pursued me, and tried
to fasten an old tin kettle to my tail; then when
I ran all the faster, they shouted Mad dog and
a policeman-or, as we say, a "bobby"-com-
menced to chase me. My poor heart beat so, I

thought I should have died; but I
struggled along, though, being a
pet house-dog, I was n't in good
running condition, and had rather
too much fat on my ribs for a
race. I gave the "bobby" the
slip, after all, and at last hid un-
der an archway. By this time it
was growing dark, and I began
to be hungry and lonely.
If the cat had been there, I
would n't have nipped her! It
is wonderful how misfortune soft-
ens the heart! Can you imagine
how miserable I was? My nice
coat was all torn and soiled, and
the several frights I had had were
enough to tire even an experi-
enced dog, not to mention the

running in and out among hansom cabs. I could
not help whining quietly to myself. After a time,
one of the figures hurrying by stopped and came
up to me. It was a man, and I should say a gen-
tleman, for, as near as I could see in the dusk, he
was dressed like Master.
Hullo said he. What have we here ? "
He stooped and picked me up. His touch was
so kind that I did n't even growl.
Alost dog! A case for the Battersea Home,"
he exclaimed.
Now, I had heard cook tell dreadful things about
" Homes" and Institutions," and when I heard
my new acquaintance speak of a Home, I gave
a growl and tried to get away; but the gentleman
was strong, and carried me off with him. He
hailed a cab and got in, still holding me. After
driving for some time we stopped, and my friend
(or enemy, I did n't yet know which he might be)
took me into a house, evidently his own. As soon
as we were inside the hall, a funny fat little boy
with curls came tumbling out of the nearest room
shouting, Here 's father, wid a doggy!" and
began to pull me about. As he did n't hurt me,
and seemed pleased to see me, I licked his fat
little hand, and he screamed with glee. Then a

tall lady joined us and asked where I had come
I found him in Fleet street," said the gentle-
man, and to-morrow I shall take him to Batter-
sea. He 's evidently a valuable dog, and must
have strayed away from his owners. If they don't
claim him-I '11 buy him for you if you like."
The very thing !" said the lady. See how
Totty is petting him."
Then I was taken upstairs into the drawing-
room, and allowed to sit on a rug. The lady
kindly gave me some water, and I felt very much

0 ~ O t

rn -

g- .m ,
.3- >

happier since I had heard that nothing terrible
was to happen to me; besides, it was very comfort-
ing to be recognized as a valuable dog. I was so
tired that I slept for a long time; in fact, it was
morning when I awoke. My new friends gave me
some breakfast, and the gentleman started out
with me again in a cab. We drove a long way
this time, to a very ugly part of the town, where
-everything was grimy and dirty and ever so many
trains were whizzing along across bridges built over
the street.
We drew up at a queer sort of place, with -a
door like the gate of a stable-yard, and a small
door next it, on which was a brass plate. On it
I read,-for I am an educated dog, let me tell you,
and am sorry for those who have n't had my ad-
vantages,-" Home for Lost Dogs." We went in
through the big gate, but turned to the side and
entered by a small door into a room where two
men sat, one at a desk and the other at a large
table. My gentleman spoke a few words to the
men, and presently left me with them. Then an-
other man came in. He was very tall, dressed in
black, with a cap on his head and a big whip in
his hand. His face was kind, and so he did not
frighten me. He carried me away and walked




with me down a place, on one side of which was
a line of cages full of all sorts of dogs. Some of
them were ill-bred, vulgar creatures, especially a
low, bandy-legged bulldog, who jeered at me and
called me names. I was placed in a cage with
a poodle, a fox terrier, two pugs, and a dachs-
hund the last about a yard long, with no legs
to speak of, but a great opinion of himself. They
all set up a roar when I arrived, and asked me a
lot of questions,-who I was, where I came from,
and the like. I was very haughty with them at
first, wishing to show my breeding, for I remem-
bered how a lady, who cook said was a duchess,
always behaved to my mistress when she called.
But they were so good-natured that I soon forgot
to be proud, for I was full of curiosity about my
new home, and wanted to ask questions.
"I am going to be bought," said I, "if my peo-
ple don't come for me."
The pug shook his head, and gave a sort of
snort. Pugs always are short of breath.
"Don't be too sure!" said he, with his black
nose in the air, and his great goggle eyes turned
toward me. His remark was so rude that I turned
my back on him. The poodle sidled up to me
and whispered: "We '11 all be killed in three
days, if we 're not sent for! I gave a yelp of
My goodness! said I, "what do you mean? "
"There's one terrible room here," said he; "if
a dog once goes into it, he never comes out alive."
At that I turned quite ill. Had I come all
this way, only to be butchered?
How do you know? I gasped.
"The cats told me."
"What cats?"
"Do you see that door? That 's where the
Cats' Boarding-house and Home is; and last night
when the door was open one of the boarders told
me. She had it from the keeper. Perhaps
you '11 be kept longer than the usual time, as you
are a good sort; but I 'm a mongrel and must die
He gave a patient sigh, as if he had made up
his mind to it. "You are very quiet about it," I
said ; I should yell all to-day if I expected to be
killed to-morrow."
Yelling would do no good," he replied. I
should be called to order now, and killed just the
same, when the time came. The truth is, I have
been so ill-treated that I 'd rather die than go back
to my master. I am not much to look at, but I
can do all manner of tricks, and I traveled with a
circus. My master was the clown, and was what
human beings call a brute, though why they shame
us by giving wicked people that name, I can't

The poor poodle felt so sad that I didn't know
what to say to him; for how could I comfort him?
Just then the dachshund looked around and
said, I wish that cur would stop that sniveling.
I can't hear myself think."
With that I jumped at him and gave him a
smart nip on the ear. Then there was a row !
We were in one great mass, struggling and biting,
till the keeper's whip came cutting in among us,
and we were forced to be quiet.
That night the door of the Cats' Boarding-house
and Home was left open by mistake, and while I
lay, trying to sleep, I heard a little "mew" which
sounded familiar. I gave a little whine in reply,
thinking I should find out whether I had a friend
amongst the pussies.
Who are you ? I asked, softly.
A little voice mewed out, Don't you remem-
ber the fat kitten next door ? "
Yes, indeed I said; for, indeed, that kitten
had been the only cat I had ever really approved
I was whipped for stealing cream, and I ran
away. Oh, how many times I 've wished myself
at home "
Have you suffered ? I asked.
"Suffered?" said she. "I am as thin as a
mouse, and supported here by what visitors throw
into the box that 's fastened to our cage; and
there 's a little fiendish black tabby here that gets
all my food away."
"Poor thing!" I said, my heart feeling very
Never mind," said she, plaintively. "We '11
all be killed day after to-morrow."
The same old story "Tell me all about it,"
I said.
There is a room here where the dogs and
cats are put, and as soon as they get in they begin
to snore, and never wake up."
I could n't help shivering at these words, for it
is an awful thing to lie in the dark and think of
your own death. The man who keeps order in
the cat-house heard us -il:1;i, and shut the door;
so I learned no more that night.
The next day the poodle came up to me, and cried,
and kissed me on the nose, saying I had been kind
to him, and he wanted to thank me before he died.
I tried to cheer him a bit, when, suddenly, two
ladies came walking by.
Stand up and beg," I whispered. And so he
What a jolly poodle said one lady. "The
very thing for Charlie. Is he for sale ?"
The keeper, who stood near, said:
"He was to be killed to-day, Madam, but you
can have him."




In a few minutes more my fortunate friend was
taken out of the cage and carried off, no doubt to
as comfortable a home as the one which I had left.
Nobody came for the pugs or the dachshund;
but, toward evening, whom should I see but cook,
with her jolly red face, coming along and looking
anxiously at all the dogs.
I barked as loud as possible, and says cook,
"That 's him!" Cook was apt to be rather
ungrammatical at times. When they got me out
of the cage, I licked her face, as if I 'd loved her
all my life. She was so pleased to see me that
she kissed my head and patted me all the time.
"Now, Mr. Keeper," said she, "there's a kitten
missing from our next-door neighbor's, and it 's
just possible she 's in the cat-house, so I '11 take a
glance, if you 're agreeable."
Then I was glad, for I did n't relish the idea of
leaving the only well-behaved cat of my acquaint-
ance to be made away with, and nobody the wiser.

In we went, and the poor kitten saw cook and flew
at the cage, trying to get to her. There were a
number of cats with her, and the label over the
top said Female Strays." The boarders were on
the other side of the room. Their masters and
mistresses had sent them there to be kept safely
during their absence from town.
Well, we had the kitten out in no time, and she
and cook and I all went home together. Cook
talked to us all the way, as if we understood her,-
and so we did, only she did n't know it.
That is the end of my trials; but I suffered
enough in a day or two to last some time.
Since then I have never left my happy home,
except in the care of some one. Sometimes in the
dark, I can't help thinking about that room where
the poor pugs and the dachshund must have died,
and the thought makes my paws cold.
But the poodle is happy. I saw him last week
driving in a carriage.



JANIE sat on the window-seat,
Watching the waving, golden wheat,
Watching the bees flit to and fro,
Watching the butterflies come and go,

Watching the flowers, red and white,
Watching the birds in their airy flight,
Watching the gentle summer shower
As it fell on field and tree and flower.

Tired little Janie saw the view,-
Idly wishing for something new;
Softly she tapped the window-pane,
And spoke aloud to the falling rain :

"Raindrops, listen to what I say:
You've worked enough; now stop and play;
You 've watered the flowers, grass, and wheat,
And settled the dust all down the street;

"Make the clouds break, and let the sun
Shine out once more-Let's have some fun!
Make me a rainbow-make it soon;
I 've been waiting all the afternoon! "

The raindrops heard in their busy dance;
The sun shone out and gave them a chance;
They seized the rays with their fingers deft,
And wove the bright-hued warp and weft;

Then hung it up in the eastern sky,
A beautiful ribbon of brilliant dye,-
One end rested upon the hill,
The other went down behind the mill.





WHILE Brownies once were rambling through
Where thick and tall the timber grew,
The hum of bees above their head
To some remarks and wonder led.
They gazed at branches in the air
A n .] li:t.:- .-d ; ,t thi, i.:.,:. it 0 :,t,-.
And -..,... i-r: .-! _:'' -,i

SaiW ... ... 1: h ,.,-
T h i.r ,.l.-. li tl, i ,. ::t :h l.d -,
W h,-r: l..: t! -ci t',,. 1.10r rt'. ," 12,,= 1r
C a:, p -,, ii- ,,:r.: r! o !.i : ., ,r t-1 rl-,,: ,- "

A n i r .- |,' i i. .t [tr r: i t h .

A r-.] hl .: i -. tii ri., i'i, .! g r :'[-'- ,:.] r ", .. ,.

But still their queen's directing cry
The bees heard o'er the clamor high;
And held their bearing for this pine
As straight as runs the county line.

I chance well to remember still,
How months ago, when up the hill,
A farmer near, with bell and horn,
Pursued a swarm one sunny morn.
The fearful din the town awoke,
The clapper from his bell he broke;

With taxes here, and failures there,
The man can ill such losses bear.
In view of this, our duty 's clear:
To-morrow night we '11 muster here,
And when we give this tree a fall,
In proper shape we '11 hive them all,





And take the queen and working throng
And lazy drones where they belong."
Next evening, at the time they set,
Around the pine the Brownies met
With tools collected, as they sped
From mill and shop and farmer's shed;
While some, to all their wants alive,
With ready hands procured a hive.

And then the hive was made to rest
In proper style above the nest,
Until the queen and all her train
Did full and fair possession gain.
Then 'round the hive a sheet was tied,
That some were thoughtful to provide,
And off on poles, as best they could,
They bore the burden from the wood.

Ere work began, said one: I fear
But little sport awaits us here;
Be sure a trying task we '11 find,
For bees are fuss and fire combined.
And take him in his drowsy hour,
Or when palavering to the flower,
The bee, however wild or tame,
In every land is much the same;
And those will rue it who neglect
To treat the insect with respect."
Ere long, by steady rasp and blow,
The towering tree was leveled low;
VOL. XIV.-44.

But trouble, as one may divine,
Occurred at points along the line.
'T was bad enough on level ground,
Where, now and then, one exit found;
But when they came to rougher road,
Or climbed the fences with their load,-
Then numbers of the prisoners there
Came trooping out to take the air,
And managed straight enough to fly
To keep excitement running high.
With branches broken off to suit,
And grass uplifted by the root,



In vain some daring Brownies tried
To brush the buzzing plagues aside.
Said one, whose features proved to all
That bees had paid his nose a call:
" I 'd rather dare the raging main,
Than meddle with such things again."

And when at last the fence they found
That girt the farmer's orchard 'round,
And laid the hive upon the stand,
There hardly was, in all the band,
A single Brownie who was free
From some reminders of the bee.

" The urgent calls," another cried,
" Of duty still must rule and guide,-
Or in the ditch the sun would see
The tumbled hive for all of me."

But thoughts of what a great surprise
Ere long would light the farmer's eyes
Soon drove away from every brain
The slightest thought of toil or pain.








THE business of banking and that of brokerage
are nearly always carried on together. A banker
is a man who, like a regularly organized bank,
receives deposits of money which he holds subject
to drafts and checks. He negotiates loans. He
buys bonds, stocks, and securities of all sorts for
his customers. He pays the coupons of railroad
and other companies. He takes charge of estates
for trustees and executors and, in short, acts as
the financial agent for individuals and corpora-
The broker buys and sells stocks and bonds of
railroads and miscellaneous companies. Generally
he makes a specialty of some particular stocks or
bonds. There are brokers in grain, coal, petro-
leum, mining stocks, flour, real estate, and almost
everything that can be bought and sold. The
broker does not buy the commodities in which he
deals to sell them again at a profit; but- he acts
as the agent for people who have goods for sale.
He makes his money by receiving a commission,"
which is a certain proportion of the amount received
for the goods. At present we will consider only
bankers and brokers who deal solely in money,
stocks, and bonds.
The boy who enters the office of a banker and
broker starts at the age of thirteen or fourteen.
He will receive three dollars a week to begin with.
He will have.to go down to the office early and
open it; but he will not have to sweep it, as all
such work is done by the janitor and his assistants.
He will have to run errands much of the time, see
that the circulars announcing the sales of stock,
which are constantly coming in during the day,
are put in their proper places; and he will make
comparisons of stock, which means that he will
see if the office account of the day's transactions
agrees with the similar accounts of the firms with
whom his house has had dealings. He will go
often to the Stock Exchange, where he will famil-
iarize himself with its workings. In the meantime
he must be learning to write quickly a neat, clerkly
hand, and to be quick at figures. A boy must be
very bright to succeed in a banker's and broker's
office in New York, or in any other large city.
The boy will do boys' work for about two or
three years, when, if he deserves it, he will be

promoted to the position of clerk. He will soon
acquire the rudiments of book-keeping, beginning
with the simplest book, which is the one in which
are entered the purchases and sales of stocks made
by the house. During the day, he will make out
"notices" of sales to be sent to customers. His
salary will now be from five hundred to one thou-
sand dollars a year. When he gets to be head
book-keeper or cashier, he will receive from one
thousand five hundred to five thousand dollars,
depending on the business done by the firm. Or
he may be made the manager of some branch
office of the firm, which is better still, and carries
with it a large measure of responsibility and an
excellent salary.
Some one has called Wall Street "the golden
artery" of the country. You might call the Stock
Exchange its "pulse," forthe important transactions
had there indicate the state of the financial health
of the country. The building is really on Broad
Street, but there is an entrance on Wall Street,
a few doors from Broadway. Enter this door
and go up a flight of iron stairs; but do not be
disconcerted at the sound of what appears to be a
large number of men quarreling, for they are the
very people you are going to see. Passing through
another door, you find yourself in a high gallery
overlooking a long hall, or room, in which from
two hundred to eight hundred men are walking
about or standing in groups. At the other end
of the apartment is a similar gallery. One side
of the room is used by the various telegraph offices,
each company having a space set apart for its own
use, and a force of messengers dressed in blue
uniforms. On the other side of the room there is
a platform, like a pulpit, from which the chairman
of the Exchange presides. The wooden floor has
no covering other than the countless tiny bits of
white paper, used memoranda, torn up by the
Before making this visit, you have probably been
told that it costs from twenty-five thousand dol-
lars to thirty thousand dollars to get a "seat" in
the Exchange. Your first thought on looking at
the scene below will possibly be, "Where are the
seats?" For, the only seats-in the whole place
are a few ranged in circular forms around a num-
ber of iron standards. On the top of each standard
is a sign reading, Ohio and Miss.," Omaha,"

* Copyright by G. J. Manson, 1884.


"Lou. and Nashville," and so on. These are
abbreviated names of certain important stocks;
and the brokers who deal largely in any one of
them may usually be found near their respective
standards. A great many more stocks than are
indicated by these signs, however, are dealt in each
day, and the few seats around these standards
will accommodate only about thirty or forty men.
The fact is, the Stock Exchange grew too large
to allow seating the members. Years ago there
were seats, but now the term "a seat" really
means the privilege of going into this room for the
purpose of doing business with the other members.
It is now not a very easy matter to become a mem-
ber of the Stock Exchange. The membership of
eleven hundred is now full, and it is only possible
to get a seat by purchasing from a retiring mem-
ber, or from the heirs of a deceased member.
Then, too, an applicant must be in good health,
because the Exchange carries an insurance of ten
thousand dollars on the life of every member,
which his heirs receive on his death. In addi-
tion, to become a member, a man must be of good
character, be free from debt, and fulfill certain
other requirements.
Looking down from the visitors' gallery, the
scene strikes one as at once amusing and bewil-
dering. Some men are walking apparently aim-
lessly about. Others walk fast, and appear to be
looking for some one. Now and then a man cries
out a word or two which you can not understand,
whereupon a crowd of bystanders press about him.
There is a short conversation, and the crowd of
men disappears as quickly as it came together.
When a broker disposes of some stock, he cries
out, Sold which means that the transaction
is completed. Every now and then, you will
notice among the men in some parts of the room
what boys call horse-play." You may see a big,
strong man take a small man and, after wrestling
with him for a short time, quietly seat him on the
floor. Other members may knock off the hats of
their brother members, a kind of sport (if that is
the name for it) which seems to be peculiarly fas-
cinating to brokers. When these groups, or
crowds, gather, you may notice that the men in the
rear rows push those in front of them so hard that
the two or three men in the center who are doing
all the talking are pressed together so close that
their noses almost touch. But everyone is good-
natured, and some are jolly and boisterous. And
the most curious part of the scene is that all these
men are at work. One peculiarity you will notice:
each man carries in his hand a small memoran-
dum-book or a pad of paper, on which every now
and then he makes a note. A man in passing
another may make an offer of a certain stock, say at

54' ; the other will say, Give you 54's." Quick
as a flash it may be taken, and a sale is made that
may involve thousands of dollars. All these trans-
actions are done so quickly and amid so much con-
fusion that you would not be apt to notice a quarter
of them.
"Would a boy who started in the office ever be
able to enter the Stock Exchange?" some one
may ask.
He would, if his parents or friends bought him
a seat. If he was poor, but unusually clever, it is
possible that some rich man who liked to speculate
in Wall Street, who had a high opinion of his
ability, would offer to go into partnership with
him, and let him be the active member of the
concern. In other words, the rich man would buy
a seat for the clerk, and put capital into the con-
cern, and the poor young man would give in re-
turn his experience and his brains. There have
been a great many cases of that kind.
Or a young man, after having risen to be head
book-keeper or cashier of a firm, may become so
valuable that he is taken into the firm as office
partner. Or a clerk of popular manners, who
has made a great many friends among business-
men and speculators, may be taken into a new
firm for the sake of the customers he can bring in.
The banker and broker must be thoroughly
posted on all financial and stock matters, not only
in this country, but in foreign lands as well. He
must be able to judge how current events will be
likely to affect the stock and money market. He
must know the inside history of all the companies
in the stock of which he deals, so as to be able
to give good advice to his customers who want
to buy or sell. In short, he must be a financial
A great many terms have come into use in Wall
Street to express the method of doing business
there. Some of them sound very much like slang;
but they are very useful in enabling the brokers to
express complicated ideas in very few words, and
might be called a species of conversational short-
Every one has heard of the "bulls" and
"bears" of Wall Street. The bulls are those
brokers who are anxious to advance the prices
of stocks. The bears, on the other hand, are
those who, wishing to buy, or for other reasons,
are anxious to reduce prices as low as possible.
The bulls are always trying to toss prices up; the
bears are always bearing down on values.
This article would not be complete, did I not say
a few words about the temptations of the broker's
life. From the very start, the boy will be in-
trusted with large sums of money to carry to the
bank or to customers. He may be in an office



where bank-bills and shining gold are within his
reach all the time; and he will be so completely
absorbed in the subject of stocks, bonds, and
money, that it will be somewhat strange if he does
not soon begin to look at the getting of money as
the most important business of life. And when
he is a little older and becomes clerk or cashier,
he will be exposed to the temptation to increase his
income by stock-gambling-" speculating," as it
is called on his own account. Such ventures are
of course very hazardous, and on all accounts should
be shunned. A broker requires great strength of
character to resist the temptation to get wealthy
by false methods; and a boy should think long
and well before he adopts the calling.
For the broker's business is at best unstable.
The work is done quickly in the midst of great
excitement and at high pressure," as we say. As
money comes quickly and easily to the broker, it is
not so highly prized as if it were earned by the
toil which produces a visible result, and it usually
goes as easily as it comes. Brokers, of course,
defend their own occupation. They will tell you
that their services as agents in securing stocks and
bonds are needed; but they will not deny that
stock-brokerage would cease to be a profitable
business, except to a very few firms, if people were
to stop speculating in securities. Of course, there
are many men in this business who have risen to
wealth and to eminence as financiers, who would
scorn to do a mean or dishonorable act. All
honor to such men, because they must often have
been sorely tempted to do wrong.
I would not be unjust to this large class of men,
so many of whom have personal traits which we
are bound to admire. They are open-handed with
their means. Their word to one another is as
good as a bond. In fact, a large proportion of
the business transacted upon the Exchange is
done without written-.contract, and depends solely
upon the good faith of the members concerned.
Their promptness to respond on public appeals
for aid or sympathy is proverbial. Yet all this
should have no influence upon a boy who is de-
ciding whether or no he shall be a broker.
-A boy may enter an office that does nothing
but a strictly banking business.

After he has thoroughly familiarized himself
with his boy's work, and has shown himself to be
quick and accurate with figures, and has mastered
the elements of book-keeping, he will probably be
promoted, from time to time, to positions of in-
creasing responsibility, until eventually he may
become cashier. The position of cashier in a
banking-house is a very important one. He re-
ceives and pays out all the money, and has charge
of all the accounts.
A young man has about the same chance of
becoming a real banker as he has of becoming a
broker,- to be either, he must, as a rule, have
money or influence; though there are not a few
instances where men, by their own individual ef-
forts, have advanced themselves.
A successful banker must be a very well informed
man in regard to certain matters bearing directly
on his business. If he negotiates loans for cities,
he should be thoroughly posted on laws bearing
upon the issues of bonds in which he may wish to
deal. Dealing with railroads, he should know all
about railroad law and the laws governing corpo-
rations generally. He must, of course, be familiar
with the banking-laws of his own State and of the
United States. He must know all about the earn-
ings and expenses of railroads and corporations
of which he may be the financial agent, or in
which his clients may be interested. He should
have a general knowledge of political economy,
and learn to judge of the effect on finance of pop-
ular movements. The condition of the crops
he will of course watch with keen interest. Re-
ports on these and other matters will be constantly
laid before him, not only daily, but almost hourly;
for the telegraph has revolutionized the old methods
of transacting business. The successful banker
of the present day is in constant communication
with the great financial centers all over the world.
For the banker will not confine himself to transac-
tions in this country, but will form business con-
nections with foreign countries as well. In fact,
the successful banker must be a man of large
brain, capable of taking broad views, be far-see-
ing, cool-headed, and quick to take advantage of
every opportunity offered by the constant changes
and chances of business life.




.>~.,.;x~ ., -h
rr __
.,~~i L:--
____ 4L I V -'*'-
r.~C p~c

ROSES red, roses red,
Whisper how you're
Then I can tell
Dear little Nell,
And we shall both be

Roses red, roses red,
Some folks say you 're
fleeting !
But we have come
To take you home,
And keep the summer's

Roses red, roses red,
Say, why are you dying?
If I could tell
Poor little Nell,
ID lt h.1 1 1 I1.

-, J~LrlaJ,3J 11U




I. Ros es red,

ros es red,

Whis per how you're grow- ing!

Then I can tell dear lit tie Nell, And we shall both be know ing.

1 I-a. I
--4 .



u sop er cryng.





LOOK at this picture, dear little folk. It was made for a little girl named
Mabelle Charlton Phillips, and she sent it to you. Is it not a funny picture ?
The little folks in it are real children, and the little girl who sent it wrote
this verse about it. She has read her "Mother Goose," you see:



THERE was a young woman who did n't live in a shoe;
She had six small children, but knew just what to do,-
She gave them some jelly spread thickly on bread,
Then kissed them all soundly and put them to bed!


i a-


.52l ... .AS'rr'n f: I'
. oI _, -' -_._- 2 _. ....... -.. .

JACK- N f H- E-'U LPI T.

"How kind is Nature! is my opening remark
Most animals and fowls are born with their
clothing on "ready-made" suits. The opos-
sum and kangaroo, moreover, are supplied with
pockets. Other animals are provided with prac-
tical conveniences fitted to their own special work
in life. The beaver has a trowel; and the tailor-
bird with his needle bill can sew leaves together for
a nest. Think of the spider, which is furnished with
a rope ladder. See him spin it out as he dangles
by the rope; and then watch him wind it in as he
climbs up by it. Mr. Spider, I suppose, is glad
he is not like other insects in having to walk.
But then there's Mr. Snail, who, though com-
pelled to crawl, has a house of his own, and carries
it along with him. Snakes get new coats every
spring, and horses and fowls shed their old ones,
too,-it is all so ordered and arranged. But I
must stop, although I am only half-way into my
subject. Think it over, my dears.


I 'M told ST. NICHOLAS is giving you a collec-
tion of true dog stories. But we '11 have one in
the meadow here all by ourselves. It came from
a boy who lives in Marshall, Minnesota:
DEAR FRIEND JACK: I thought perhaps you
would like to tell the children who pick flowers in
your meadow a story about our Tony."
One day last fall my father was duck-shooting,
and was standing at the foot of a small hill. One
of the ducks he shot fell just over the hill out of
sight. Papa took "Tony" over the hill to hunt up
the duck, and kept calling out to him to go fetch! "
and hunt him up until the dog, not finding
the duck, grew tired of the oft-repeated commands.
Seeming to say to himself, If my master wants a

-lf~b~;~ --

~i ,, -


duck so much, I will get him one," he trotted
around the base of the hill, and taking one from the
pile of ducks previously shot, he carried it over the
top of the hill to Papa with a now-I-hope-you-are-
satisfied expression on his face. Papa detected the
deceit by the fact that the duck was a different kind
from the one that fell over the hill. Some folks
think that dogs can't reason, but I think they can.
We all read ST. NICHOLAS here, but I won't tell
you what we think of it. It would sound too much
like patent-medicine advertisements,-- "before
taking" and after taking," etc.
Ever your friend,
W. G. L.
DEAR JACK: Here are some answers to Deacon Green's questions
in the March ST. NICHOLAS:
How many feet has an ordinary ant? An ordinary field ant has
six feet.- How many feet has a house-fly ? A house-fly has six feet.
-How many wings has a dragon-fly? A dragon-fly has four
wings.- How many legs has a grasshopper? A grasshopper has
six legs.- How many teeth has a mole ? I am sorry to say I do not
know.-How many wings has a bee? A bee has four wings.
I knew all these answers without any help whatever (especially
the fifth!).
Also, I saw Leonora Wood's question about the gentle bees. I
think the reason they did not sting was because the man did not try
to brush them off If he had tried to brush them off they would
most likely have stung him badly.
Your faithful reader, HORACE F. LUNT (aged eleven).
The Deacon heartily thanks other young friends,
especially Charlie C. Russell, J. W. P., and Ger-
trude Sprague, for answers to his questions.

DEAR JACK: In the February number of ST.
NICHOLAS, in your part of it, I read about a little
boy having a young tiger for a pet. I also read
in another book that in India they have young
tigers for pets. They are not dangerous if they
are captured before they have tasted meat; but,
if they have tasted even a drop of blood, they will
fly at you. I read once that a man had one for a
pet. He was sitting writing and his tiger was lying
beside him, licking his hand. It so happened that
in doing this the tiger's rough tongue accidentally
caused a drop of blood to start. The tiger tasted
it and then flew at the man. The man drew his
pistol and shot the tiger, just in time. I am
Your interested reader,

A FRIEND of yours and mine, my dears, sends
you this account of an indoor snow-storm, which
she found in a newspaper:
Last winter, on a very cold night, a ball was held
in a town in Sweden, and in the course of the even-
ing the room became so hot that some of the ladies
fainted. As the windows were so hard-frozen that
they could not be opened, a pane of glass was
broken. The effect was curious; the inrush of.
cold condensed the watery vapor (which the heat
had hitherto dissolved) in the air of the room, and


caused it to fall in the form of snow. Though this
rather astounded the dancers, it was what might
have been expected under the circumstances. Sim-
ilar indoor snow-storms are of frequent occurrence
in Russia.


HAVING seen a great many kinds of barometers
spoken of in ST. NICHOLAS, I thought I would
tell your readers of one that everybody notices in
Florida. Whenever we hear the alligators making
a loud bellowing noise, we always expect rain or
bad weather, and it nearly always comes.
Your constant reader, J. R.

DEAR JACK: I think I can add a few peculiar
names to those you already have. The head"
and "foot" of a class; the "nose" of a pitcher;
the "neck" of a vase;
a "tongue" of flame; -
the "lap of luxury; a
" vein of stone, gold,
or silver; the "brow"
of a hill; and the
"mouth of a cave.-
I made these up all by
myself, and would like
to see them in print, as
they might interest some
of the readers of your
little lectures. Now, dear
Jack, is it not strange -
that many of these
terms when reversed be-
come slang, as, for in-
stance, if a boy should
call a person's head a
"cocoanut," his hands
"'paws," or his face a
"mug!" Iamjustthir-
teen years old.
Your reader,


A YOUNG friend who lives near Bristol in Som-
ersetshire, England, recently saw some very wide-
awake squirrels of which he sends me this account:

DEAR JACK: I am writing to tell you about
some squirrels.
The squirrels were out the whole of last winter,
contrary to what one usually hears of their sleeping
through the cold weather. Snow was on the
ground, but still they came out and ran along in
it while it was quite deep.
I thought this might perhaps interest some of
your readers who belong to the Agassiz Association.
Your interested reader, THEO. L. DYKE.

DEAR JACK IN THE PULPIT: I saw in the March number of ST.
NICHOLAS, that Miss Rosalie Caswell wants the readers of ST.
NICHOLAS to tell how many toes a dog has, without looking to see. I
think my little dog has twenty, but I am not sure, as I have not
looked to see. My dog's name is Pinkestrean Black, but I call her
Pinkie. My father has a big dog called Samuel Sloan, named for the
president of the D. L. & W. Railroad. My dog Pinkie is the same
age as I am--eleven years. I think I will write a letter to you about
Sam. Sam is what I call a dog-shun or war-dog.
With much love, I am your reader,

G. Ambrose E. Vanderpoel is probably quite
right, and all of you who have dogs may look to
see for yourselves. But a very observant corre-
spondent who signs himself U. U. says there may
be two answers to Miss Caswell's question. All
dogs, he says, have five toes on each fore foot, but
there are more having four toes on each hind foot
than there are having five. Those that have only
eighteen toes in all do not have the small toe on
the inside of each hind foot. In the case of the
dog having these
toes, he has
'iy ^ twenty in all.
Neither case is a
deformity, for
'/ -- the number de-
pends upon the
<' breed of the dog.

SOMETIMES my birds tell me very queer stories.
I wonder if the little girl is here who quite hurt
the feelings of one of my robins last July. Ac-
cording to his account, she ate all she wanted, and
when he sang a few coaxing notes to her, she said
to him: I 'd give you one, birdie, but cherries
are so unwholesome! Besides, I had to climb all
the way up here,.and you just flew to the limb
without the least trouble,-so you can get your
own cherries !"
HERE is a wonderful snake-story. It is sent to
you by a nine-year old friend of mine named Mar-
land Rollins:

Once when I was six years old, I was with a little
girl out in Kansas. I saw a snake and then I went
to grandpapa and told him that there was a snake
there under the piazza. Then he brought his hoe,
chopped off the head, but the head ran around.
It is very wonderful how these snakes are.



DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The records of the Monmouth rebellion,
especially when they relate to personal incidents, are so hazy and un-
certain that it is very easy to see how two versions of a single story,
both apparently authentic, may be extant; and, therefore, it would
be captious and unfair for me to criticize the admirably told story of
" Grizel Cochrane's Ride," in the February ST. NICHOLAS. But,
as I wrote the story of Bonny Grizzy Cochrane" some ten years
ago, and as my version differs in some of its features from the one in
ST. NICHOLAS, I desire to call attention to' the fact, rather to com-
pare notes than otherwise, regarding this remarkable romance of the
moor of Tweedmouth.
According to the story as I learned it, the gallant heroine twice
successfully robbed the king's mail, thus securing the original death-
warrant and the second, or duplicate, which had been sent after it
became known that the first was lost. On the first of these oc-
casions, the girl started from her father's castle, near Berwick, and
effected her object while the post-rider slept at a wayside inn. In
the second robbery, she went from Edinburgh, as your contributor
has it, but she did not dispose of the remainder of the mail as de-
scribed, but secreted it; for, otherwise, it would have been buta child's
work to trace the robbery, which would have been fatal to SirJohn's
safety. The negotiations for the pardon were conducted by the
Earl of Dundonald--a kinsman of Sir John Cochrane -through
the king's confessor. Grizel Cochrane was the great grandmother
of Mr. Coutts, the once celebrated London banker.
I spent a part of the summer of 1850 in Scotland, and was for some
days in the immediate neighborhood of the spot where Sir John
Cochrane's castle stood, and even at that late period, the story of
"Bonny Grizzy" was often mentioned in the neighborhood. Later
on, while in Edinburgh, I found in the library of a friend a little a2mo
book, containing six short stories, with the title-page: "Border
Tales. Founded on historical facts. By John Throcton. Edin-
burgh, 1764."
One of these was the story of Grizel Cochrane's heroic effort
to save her father's life," and, after reading it, I entered in my
note-book the main features of the story. In the same year, while
prowling round an old book-shop, I stumbled on some dilapidated
leaves of what had once been a collection of ballads, on one leaf of
which was a date 169- (the last figure so defaced I could not make
it out, but thought it a 3 or an 8). There were two complete bal-
lads and parts of two others. One of these defaced copies had nine
stanzas and part of the tenth verse of a ballad entitled "Cochrane's
Bonny Grizzy." I bought the fragment for a sixpence, I think,
and carried it to London, where I was then living. About o 86o or
'62 I came across a volume -f eprinted Border Ballads," which
was publishedby Longman, I ... .., Green, and Longmaj in 1837,
and among these was the ballad of "Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy"
Both Throcton's tale and each of these ballads concur in making
Grizzy Cochrane commit the double robbery.
Yours very truly H. POMrEROY BREWSTER.

Here is another letter concerning the story. It comes from a
little girl living in Quincy, Massachusetts:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the February number there is a piece
called "Grizel Cochrane's Ride." In an old magazine called Wil-
son's Tales of the Borders," November 8, 1834, the same story was.
published; but, though the facts are the same, the story seems to
me far more probable. I thought you might like to have a little
girl tell you where another version of the same story was found by
Truly yours, MARY W. D- (twelve years old).

We were careful to state beneath the title of" Grizel Cochrane's
Ride that the story, as printed in ST. NICHOLAS, was "foundedunon
an incident of the Monmouth Rebellion." The records of the time
are indeed "hazy and uncertain,"-to use Mr. Brewster's words;
and in addition to the authorities which he cites, we have been re-
ferred to still another version of the story, published in Chamnbers'
iMiscellany, years ago. In that account, it is stated that Grizel
drew out the loads from the postman's pistols while he lay asleep
in the inn, and successfully robbed him of the mail-bags upon the
highway, after he had resumed his journey. When she demanded
the bags, he pointed both pistols at her and drew the triggers in suc-

cession; but of course their fire was without effect; and when the
postman, finding his weapons useless, dismounted and tried to
clutch Grizel or her horse, she not only escaped his grasp by dex-
terous use of the spurs, but contrived also to seize the bridle of the
postman's horse. This gained, she put both steeds to the gallop,
leaving the helpless postman to gaze after the vanishing mail-bags
and then trudge back on foot to the nearest town.
In other respects also, the account which we have mentioned dif-
fers from the version quoted by Mr. Brewster, as well as from the
one printed in our February number. There seems to be a basis in
historic annals for accepting as a fact the main incident of the story
- Grizel's robbery of the postman to obtain her father's death-war-
rant. But it probably would be useless to attempt at this day to
verify any of the details of the adventure, or to reconcile the various
forms of the story. It has, no doubt, suffered the fate of other border
tales and traditions by being changed and amplified in its descent
from one generation to another.
It will interest our readers to know that there is now living in New
York a gentleman who is a direct descendant of Grizel Cochrane,
the heroine of the story under discus-
sion. He has authorized us to state
that Grizel's plucky feat is a prized tra-
dition of his family, who implicitly be-
lieve in it as a fact; and he has kindly
shown us an old "rose-diamond" ring
which, he says, was presented to Grizel 4
by her father, Sir John Cochrane, in ""
commemoration of her daring adventure
in his behalf. This ring was owned by
the late Professor Rankine of Glasgow University, who describes it
in his will -a copy of which is before us -as "the diamond ring
formerly belonging to Grizel Cochrane, or Rankine, my great-
By the courtesy of the gentleman in whose family this interesting
keepsake is preserved, we are permitted to show to ST. NICHOLAS
readers an engraving of the ring and also a miniature copy of a corner
ofa napkin that was woven in Grizel Cochrane's house. It is one of
a set of six that have descended as a family heirloom, and in the cor-
ners may be seen the name of Grisal Ranken, a daughter or a niece

'--'. ','; -^ "" I ,,'I

S, I
.. -,
... '" ,

I -, J '- I { # --

of the heroine of our story. Grizel Cochrane herself may have been
still living at the time when the date (1735) was woven into the nap-
kin,- and it is even possible that the name and date were wrought
into the fabric by the same hand that drew the pistol upon the
startled postman many years before.





By an oversight, which we regret, the name of the author of the
French verse, "La Main," printed on page 364 of ST. NICHOLAS
for March, was omitted when the page was sent to press. We now
take pleasure in stating that the clever lines were written by Jean
Aicard, a well-known French author, whose writings are very popu-
lar in his native country.
We give below three translations of the verse, kindly sent us by
readers of ST. NICHOLAS.

The thumb, the first of the five fingers of the hand,
Said to the second, Ah, I am so hungry "
The index, or second, finger said, We have no bread."
The middle finger said, What is to be done?"
As one can," said the ring-finger.
Oh oh oh said the smallest;
Who works lives !
Who works lives! "


THE thumb, which of all the five fingers comes first,
Said to the second, Ah, hungry am I! "
Alack I and alas! we have no nice, good bread,"
The finger which came second then did reply.
The middle one spoke, Oh, what shall we do ?"
Do ? We 'll do what we can," said the ring-finger then.
And the little one said, Pshaw pshaw oh, pooh, pooh "
(He was the smallest of all the small men.)
"To live, one must work,"
He muttered again.
MIRIAM O-- (aged thirteen).


HUNGRY little Frenchmen,
Five, all in a bunch -
Fatty to his henchmen
Cried aloud for lunch:
"A qu' j'ai faim "

Much astonished second
Could n't find the bread -
First his neighbor beckon'd,
Then he sadly said:
'N'y a pas d' fain "

Puzzled by the riddle -
Here 's a howdy do !
Chappy in the middle
Don't know what to do:
"Comment fire ?"

Brother Punchinello,
Always debonair-
Merry little fellow,
Sings this jolly air:
"Mangez 'air!"

While young Peewee
Upon his knee,
As all can see,
Wrote rapidly:

1'*" ''ai faim
:., .' .as d' pain!
Comment fire ?
Mangez lair!
E. W. K.

discharged from other hospitals have been eventually cured here;
only the other day a lad of sixteen came to see me, who at four years
old was declared to be incurably afflicted with spine disease; he is
now able to walk and to earn his living.
But these houses in Cheyne Walk are very old; the constant need
of repair is costly, and since last winter it has been necessary to
close one ward, because the back rooms are unfit for occupation.
A new hospital is wanted and a piece of ground has been bought
on which to build it. The new site faces the river, so that the little
patients will still be able to watch the boats and steamers on the
"silent highway."
I have watched the progress of Cheyne Home for ten years, and
I always find the children bright and happy. It is sometimes diff-
cult when one goes into a ward to realize, in the din of merry laugh-
ter, that so many of these dear little ones are afflicted with incurable
disease, and will probably never rise from their cots; yet it has been
proved here that hip disease treated in an early stage may be cured;
one child aged seven has made a complete recovery.
Several of the little patients are very interesting. The boy in the
cot founded in memory of Charles Kingsley would have delighted
the great man whose picture hangs over his head.
Cheyne Hospital, besides nursing its inmates, secures country
and sea air for its convalescent patients, and, when possible, it ena-
bles them to be taught a trade. Incurable patients are kept and
most tenderly cared for, as long as human care is needed.
It has never been in debt, but the funds which maintain the little
hospital can not be trenched on for this much-needed dew building, and
I make this appeal in the hope of liberal help, so that a new hospital
may be built large enough to admit some of the numerous candi-
dates whom the present hospital is compelled to refuse. There is
only one other such hospital in London.
Cheyne Hospital for Sick and Incurable Children, 46 Cheyne
Walk, Chelsea, is open every day to visitors, between half-past two
and half-past four. Donations or subscriptions for the new Hospital
Building Fund should be addressed to the Secretary, 46 Cheyne
Walk, Chelsea. I am, dear ST. NICHOLAS, faithfully yours,

WE take pleasure in commending to the attention of our readers
the accompanying picture, which is a notable illustration of what
can be accomplished by a clever boy.

READERS of Mr. Stockton's article in this number entitled "King
London," and indeed all readers of ST. NICHOLAS, will be interested
in this letter from Mrs. Katharine S. MacQuoid concerning a London
project for the benefit of sick and incurable children. Mrs. Mac-
Quoid's interesting account of Cheyne Hospital has a practical
import for our English readers--many of whom may be glad to do
what they can in aid of so noble a charity:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: There are in London and elsewhere in
England, hundreds of crippled and suffering children, little diseased
creatures whose homes are so small and poor that they can not be
specially cared for. It has sometimes happened that a child suffer-
ing from hip disease has had to share a bed. with three healthy
brothers and sisters.
Some of these sad cases get admitted to one of the regular chil-
dren's' hospitals, and after the allotted time expires, they are dis-
-charged as incurables," and they go home to suffer perhaps yet
more acutely from the contrast which home offers to the kind care
and skillful treatment received from nurses and doctors.
About ten years ago, a tentative effort to meet this evident want
was made in a small house beside the Thames, No. 46 Cheyne Walk,
Chelsea, and very soon so much sympathy was aroused by its suc-
.cess, that the originators of the scheme were able to add an adjoining
house to the little hospital, and thirty-four cots were provided for
patients, most of whom were suffering from hip and spinal disease.
Several of these cots have since been permanently endowed.
The hospital is excellently managed; it has an admirable lady
:superintendent, devoted nurses, and skillful doctors; several cases



The drawing was made by Harry C. Brearley of Detroit, at the
age of fourteen, and is a portrait of his baby-sister Marguerite."
Other specimens of the young artist's work are equally creditable to
his talent and skill.






CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 5xth of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be
examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions
will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I was staying at Nice during the
recent earthquakes, I thought you might like to have a description
of them from one of your most devoted readers.
At three minutes of six, the 23d of February, I was awakened by
almost terrific shaking and bangin.. .. 1-. ..,;1- all the mountains
behind our hotel were tumbling on tl.. I. ..'. the house, a huge
one, rolled till I thought every moment it would fall; frightened
shrieks were heard from all sides, in which I heartily joined. This
lasted one minute and a half, for at the first rumblings two of my
friends, suspecting what was coming, timed it exactly. Of course,
every one jumped up immediately, and the most curious costumes I
have ever seen appeared in the corridors that fearful night. Most
consisted of blanket or quilt thrown over their night-gowns; some,
less lucky and more frightened, seized up an old shawl; the whole
population was dreadfully scared.
Twenty minutes, later there was another shock nearly as severe
as the first, though not so long; at half-past eight, one lighter still,
but enough to cause the wildest terror; since then they have been
perceptibly lighter, though quite enough to drive a great many visit-
ors, ourselves included, away from the coast. Some dreadful dam-
age was done, though only four people were actually killed by it.
One poor governess had her floor give way under her, while the
walls and roofs fell on top of her; and an old lady died of fright in
her bed. One family of ten, living in a rickety house on the fifth
flat, getting very much alarmed, jumped from the windows, and all
landed unhurt on a tree below (a curious story) where they com-
fortably roosted till morning, while their house was shaken to ruins.
They would inevitably have been killed, had they remained in it.
No one can doubt the truth of this statement, for I read it in a
newspaper l
But I am afraid I am taking too much room in your precious
magazine; so wishing ST. NICHOLAS a very long life,
I remain, your enthusiastic reader, BEATRICE L. B.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: It was proposed to me to-day to write you,
as it may interest some of your readers to hear of the earthquakes in
the south of France from one who felt them. We were at Cannes,
and since we have come here, people tell me we felt nothing; but I
was there, and can tell a different story. It was almost six A. M.
when we were awakened by the trembling of the hotel. My bed
moved so much that I fancied for the moment I was at sea, and was
not frightened. The noise, however, was the most alarming part of
our shock. Had several railway trains passed under our windows, I
doubt if it would have been louder; all the electric bells rang from the
trembling of the wires. Five minutes after the earthquake every
one was in the garden, where the scene was almost funny. Several
of the rooms on the upper floors were damaged, but nothing seri-
ously. Every one seemed to have s. .. i ........: One lady with
her umbrella had left her jewels. ~. ...... ..t-of-doors until
after eight o'clock, when we came in to breakfast. There was more
trembling later, but we were but little frightened. It was at night
that the true feeling of helplessness came upon one. The following
nights were far from pleasant. People said there would be shocks
at all hours, and, while one did not believe them, it was hard not to
be nervous. The occupants of the rooms on my left talked long and
late upon the possibility. of being "jammed," and, as the walls were
thin, I heard every word, and decided to dress at once. Both Wednes-
day and Thursday nights there were slight shocks, but the latter
evening and night were so hot we were unable to suppress fears. I
made myself as comfortable as possible on my bed, and afterward
found my parents had done the same. It was not until Thursday
we heard of the damage done to Nice, Mentone, and the small
Italian towns. We drove once through a little village near Cannes,
where the church has since fallen in on a number of peasants. We
were at Cannes some months, and all enjoyed the many beautiful
drives about there, and the days spent on the water. We visited
the fort where the "Man in the Iron Mask" was imprisoned seven-
teen years, and the ruins of the old monastery on the Island St. Hon-
orat. We were a small party that day, a.-.J I. -. .. .i.:.-.. if '-..-
my father made several sketches, while I...r.j -.. .-, i
several photographs of the islands. I have written much more than
I at first intended. Hoping it is not too long, I remain,
Very sincerely yours, E-.
P. S.- I read the very interesting letter from Charleston, and
thought one from Cannes might interest also.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My object in writing to you is to tell
you how delighted my little brother Willie, aged five, was with the
tale in the last number, entitled "A Queer Horse-Car." I have
read it to him five times already, and now he wants to hear it again.
I am, your constant reader, ALICE H-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We three friends have just read General
Adam Badeau's interesting account of the battle between the Merri-
mac and the Monitor, and as we live near the scene of action, all the
points on the map are very familiar to us. Every summer we make
frequent visits to Old Point, and see the fort where the Union battery
was during the war. Many relics of the battle, and the remains of the
dry-dock where the Merrimac was built, are still to be seen at the
Gosport Navy Yard. The Franklin, one of the oldest ships in the
navy, has had her resting-place here for many years, as she is
unserviceable for sea and is used as a receiving-ship. Living here,
right on the water, we go on board of all the men-of-war which come
to this port, and take special joy in airing our knowledge of French
and German before the officers of the ships of those nations. We
have taken your magazine for many years, and never tire of reading
your charming stories, and especially those of E. S. Brooks.
Yours, J. P. AND N.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been sick, and one day my sister
and I made rhymes. I send you one of mine, with original illustra-
tions. I am twelve years old and am ill much of the time. I always
am so glad when ST. NICHOLAS comes. Yours,

27 '/ a ,. Itt

9vt I hlk that Ith ake

2 v* -Z a' 7 b F)"
On y y /iy-pid- /.V ,71
/at7 prospects tn rP r" for
a. polly wVe8!J

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little kitten, eight months old, and my
name is Bessie. In your last number I saw a letter from a doll
named Lucy. From her letter, I think she must be very disagree-
able. My little mistress Adele has dolls, but they are very nice.
When she has company, she makes me sit up in a chair, and hold
one of them. Then her friends laugh, and make fun of me. While


Adele is at school I tear up her paper dolls, if she leaves them where
I can get them. When she comes home, she is provoked at first,
but afterward she laughs, and I do it again if I get the chance. 1
had my picture taken, and what a time I had! Addle took me
three times before I could get a good one taken. I have a dear little
collar and bell. When I want to go out of a room, and the door is
shut, I shake my head and my little bell rings till somebody lets me
out. I can do all kinds of tricks, but I can't talk. When I go out
and sit at the door, the neighbors' rude dogs come and bark at me.
Then I cry until Adele comes and takes me in the house. I must
say good-night, as Mamma does not know I am writing.
Adele's pet, BESSIE.

Mv DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have written to you several times,
but my letters have always been laid aside and not mailed. I guess
Mamma thought they were not worth mailing, and I think perhaps
she was right.
My last birthday, which was my tenth, my mamma made a little
surprise party for me. My papa gave you to me for a Christmas
present about two years ago, and 1 liked you so much that I have
kept on taking you. Although I have taken a number of different
papers and magazines, I like you the best of all. I especially liked
"Little Lord Fauntleroy" and "Prince Fairyfoot," and am now
much interested in "Juan and Juanita" and "Jenny's Boarding-
Well, I guess you will think I am never going to stop; so I will
say good-bye, and give the others a chance. I remain,
Your affectionate reader, ALICE M. E--.

HERE are some rhymes written by a little boy while a student at
an English school:


Now THE holidays are done,
Oh, the joy! and oh, the fun!
No more sleighing on the slope,
No more splicing of a rope,
No more plowing of a path
In the snow to make you laugh,
No more shooting at the cock,
No more putting it in dock,
No more making of the craft
Which people say looks like a raft;
No more getting up at nine,
No more kicking up a shine,
No more getting lines to do,
No more burning up one's shoe,
No more brushing of the snow
From the ice on which to go.
So now we end the holiday
To do all work, and never play.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl thirteen years old, and I
have just returned from Germany, where I have been for the last
three years. I went to Vienna, Heidelberg, and several other large
cities, besides a good manycountry places. 1'.. -i.-.r r .ir.. ;,.
Dresden, but I do not like it nearly as well a ...... I I
German when I went there, but Mamma wanted ..... : '- .
it well, so I was not allowed to talk any English, ... 1 I, 1 .1,I -
lish I was allowed to read was the ST. NICHOLAS, which my uncle
sent over to me every month. So you see I have become very much
attached to dear old ST. NICK. Coming back, we staid in France
about two months, spending most of the time in Paris. Then we
went to London, and I never before saw such a smoky, dirty city,
and it did nothing but rain all the time we were there. Now, good-
bye, dear ST. NICHOLAS.
From your interested reader, EDITH L--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: After dinner (it is ten minutes of twelve
now) I will have my pony saddled and bridled and go to town to mail
this letter. I am twelve years old.
My pony is four, but he does not look one year old because he is
so small. He is a great pet, and his name is Kleide. He will eat
sugar--so much. He is an Indian pony, and he bucks." I like
to have him "buck." Do you know what "buck means ? I will

tell you; it means -for the pony to stop suddenly when he is run-
ning (or galloping) and throw his head down, so that it nearly touches
the ground.
I have two other pets, Quailie, a dog, and Brutus, the cat. I
think you must think I am never going to get through writing about
my pets, so I will change the theme.
I like "Juan and Juanita" ever so much. There are wild bees
here that make their homes (or hives) in trees, and my cousin some-
times gets them and puts them in real hives. But he will not do so
anymore for along time, for he is at college. Perhaps you think I am
a boy. I am not; I am a girl, and I must stop, or you, ST. NICHO-
LAS, will say, Woe is me but this letter cannot enter the Letter-
box, because italone would fill it up." So good-bye, ST. NICHOLAS;
you are the best magazine on this continent.
I am ever your friend, E. G. M-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before, and
have never seen but one letter from this city in your Letter-box, so
I thought I would write. We have taken you ever since your first
number, and we all like you very much.
I go to the high school, and expect to graduate in June. There
will be ten girls in our class. Last year there was one boy in the
class, but he deserted us last June. We are all worrying over our
essays, and all looking for subjects. Probably some of your readers
have been through it all, and know how to sympathize with us.
I liked the Story of the Merrimac and Monitor," and "Jenny's
Boarding-house," very much.
Your friend and constant reader, S-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken ST. NICHOLAS ever since
1883, and like it more and more each year. Little Lord Fauntle-
roy" and "Prince Fairyfoot" I think were splendid, and so is
"Juan and Juanita."
I will be ten. years old in May. My April ST. NICHOLAS came
Monday, and I was delighted to get it. I think that the "Brownies"
are the funniest little things that I ever saw. I like Historic
Girls" very much. I live in Plymouth, the old town where the
Pilgrims landed.
I was very much interested in the names for different things. I
send you two or three to add to the list,- the roots of a tooth, the
veins of a leaf, and the teeth of a rake. Good-bye, ST. NICHOLAS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before. There
are four of us. Edith comes first; she is thirteen; Edgar, who is
eleven, and then myself; I am ten; and then George, who is eight
Edith is at school in Surrey, and I am going down to her next term,
and Edgar is going to St. Paul's, in London, and George is at
Brighton. We have three dogs: a thoroughbred collie named Wal-
lace, which belongs to Edith, and a Skye terrier that belongs to
Mother,-its name is Rags,-and a Yorkshire terrier named Tip that
belongs to me. Mother has a pony named Taffy that we ride, and
some pigs. Edith has got a doe rabbit, and I have some fowls -five
- and a rooster; and Edgar has a bullfinch; so we don't come badly
off for pets. Father has taken you for about ten years, and we all
like you very much. I have a good many dolls, but I don't care for
them one bit. With much love, I remain,
Your admiring reader, MAY P- .

OUR thanks for the receipt of pleasant letters are due to the young
friends whose names here follow: Margaret F. Morse, Mabel B.,
Jessie DeG., Mary R., George Priest, Edith E. Abbott, G. M. A.,
C. L., Sarah Plant, Samuel and G. A. E. V., T. Wallace, B. Chand-
ler, Two Little Maids, Heathen," Ray Smith, B. M. D., Walter
E. Jones, Meg R., Annie B. K., Lillian Bay, K. M. H., Alice
Keener, Bessie M. C., Fred. L. M., M. H. Bisbee, C. M. G., Grace
Edith T., Frankie Goss, Gracie G., Nettle R., Mary M., A. B. Dod,
Grace F. Eldredge, Lucille W. Garrison, Tom D. Perry, Frieda S.,
Ethel Norton, M: A., Jessie M. Ketcham, Eva K., Turner B. Bunn,
Adolphus M. S., Florence J. H., Mary A. Weller, John G. Legge,
Willie Hollenbeck, Fred Driver, May Robinson, Mollie Gibson,
Frank R. C. B., Marion, L. L. K., Bertie B., W. W. Croom, Jessie
and Ruth W., Emily T. Howell, Anna McC., Robert J. H., A. R.
Q., Hattie Howe, Addie Chambers, Chippie Howell, M. K. Lethem,
Nina F. J., Percy H. Parke, B. C., "Snowdrop," Bertha B.,
Irene S., L. L. Lloyd, Florence E. Nelson, Maud, Charles C. F.,
Helen B., M. R., Kate and Grace, Ida Strauss, Norman, and K.




(See ST. NICHOLAS for April, fage 478.)
FROM 45 TO 50.- (Conaclded.) 0. Smith, E. E. Carman, M. S. Tracy, B. F. and J. W. H. Porter, L. Sparks, A. McLenegan, E.
Stanton, M. and R. Cole, C. Blossom, T. B. Allen, J. Rudden, E. K. Moss, E. F. Pratt, F. P. Humphrey, E. M. Bushell, L. C. Butler,
B. E. F., Katie S. M., Buffie," H. B. F., C. M. Upton, L. C. de Coppet, Hilda," F. W. Islip, G. Gray, E. C. Adams, J. V. Domi-
phan, Jr., Taygete and Cleone, F. H. Young, V. Young, M. Hussey, W. D. Booth, Dunmore, N. Protzman, Ethel, Guy, and Fred,
S. M. Kennedy, Ida and Lucy, L. L. Roby, A. Cowperthwait, N. and L. Moore, L. McClellan, A. S. Wood, Chromateela," M. Baldwin,
J. E. W., M. Eyre, B. Schoonmaker, "Junius," Ines R., Rustic," C. Gilman, G. I. Virgin, A. McElroy, G. Hilliard, Berrys, B. Johnson,
A. Valentine, "Largs," Ethel S., L. M. Aitkinson, R. B. Broaders, Job and Star, A. G. Bishop, B. Roberts, "Wyo and Colo," "Delta,"
B. Alt, C. I. Coppins, May B. Q., Earl and Roy, L. Houghton, G. M. W., E. Hannington, We, Us, and Co.," C. L. B., J. Bingham,
" Combination," E. and E. Hope, C. Mezger, J. B. and R. D. Carter, S. Park, Jr., M. Somerville, E. G. Eccles, E. Caser, L. M. Moore,
M. Hannis, Katie D., M. Hopper, E. and W. B., Lettie R., Ida, A. L. Mudge, H. K. Gaskill, A. G. Farwell, Tessa, Clara H. S., W. H.,
F. F. Spie., S. H. P., R. Player, M. E. Robbins, E. R. Pearce, I. M. H., "Delight," M. Glennie, D. E. and A. Kingston, Venus,"
M. Spence, D. True, M. B. Butler, 4 J K(1 .i D. MA. J., M. Isaacs, A. C., F. L. Dudgeon, W. M. Tuller, R. F. Alexander, Nini,
D. Hadger, A. M. Salisbury, E. M. : .11 .1 S. ? ] .., Mrs. L. D. C., L. J. S. Brown, F. Holcomb, R. E. Stancliff, H. C. Shrews-
bury, V. C., S. Van Helden, D. Coe, K. Wilson, J. li C. F. Bunnell, W. P. H., Jr., L. S. Flynt, A. H. Young, H. S. Mason,
F. B. Stocking, Muriel and Guy, A. M. Osborn, D. Furman, J. B., H. M. Rohn, No Name, Hugh and Cis, M. P. F., M. B. Brown,
E. B. Slaughter, Etta R., D. Low, H. Heinzen, H. and M. L. Ward, C. B. Walker, Budge, Jim, and Toby, A. Roberts, C. Thacher,
"The Brownies," D. S. Wylie, F. L. Bradley, A. L. Lyon, E. B. Elliot, D. Gordon A. S., "Gyp," Estelle, N. Cartlidge, R. S. Tucker,
D. Perry, E. Coles, L. A. Houston, L. H. Warner, M. Kaler, A. W. Chase, B. C. Beck, S. E. P., "A Reader," M. Bridges, "Teena,"
H. Crabtree, Solon," C. 1M. A., C. 1... E. A. Jenkins, M. F. T., L. E. and M. G. Haviland, E. H. Gibbons, E. W. C., C. M. and
J. S. Chamberlain, Jennie, Frank B., j Grame, W. A. Donald, I. E. Goodrich, C. L. Gilbert, M. E. Woolley, R. Driggs, H. and F. W.,
K. H. C., A. C. P., C- ;.: P W. and C. Child, V. M. Eating, B. Gott, A. L. Granbery, A. Du Bois Sower, M. L. Fisher, P. Barrett,
F. Rosengarten, A. I .'-.. E. B., I. H. S., A. L. Fearn, M. W. Carr, Mrs. J. Kempster, E. Thompson, M. A. M., P. Peacham,
W. S. Trumbull, N. Danford, M. and A. Donnelly, L. W. C., A. Major, W. and B. Richardson, B. Green, "Imp," G. M. Sears,
K. Miracle, H. I. R., B. A. Cottlow, T. W. Park, P. E. Boishmere, B. E. Ells, L. B. Shaw, A. G. Sickels, W. Kelly, L. Haskell, E. G.
Banta, Grace W., Rea Hanna, Amice, Learned Pig," L. M. Braunlich, G. and E. Hickok, No Name, Galesburg, H. S., F. S. Haight,
I. H. Martin, "Woodpeckers," L. Carr, M. Clark, M. H. Follett, K. Bucknam, G. E. Ward, B. J. Sherman, M. H. Ritchie, K. M.
Hunter, Navy Yard," H. H. Dickerson, M. E. Vincent, C. B. Gabriel, E. Hollinshead, G. M. Gore, W. C. M., E. Woodruff, R. Randall,
W. F. Michael and Harry, N. B. Fowler, A. W. Naylor, J. and G. Cooke, R. Mason, F. W. Holland, G. M. Tozier, M. G. A., A. H.
Kaupke, "Clelia," B. Auerbach, F. and S. Kraus, S. K., The Badeaus, H. Hill, F. Pritchard, Arthur and Mildred, F. E. Long, F. Von
Dorsten, L. J. English, F. H. Ward, Madge, Irene, and Cecil, A. Cameron, J., Medico," Lilian," J. M. Marples, L. P. Bates,
H. and L. Flanigen, F. S. Williams, M. A., K. L. Robertson, A. E. Parsons, H. C. Olcott, C. Shumway, E. L. Mattice, A. E. White,
D. Matthews, A. Howell.
45. A. R. Douglass, E. A. and I. R. S., Theo. and Elsie, M. P., Three Little Maids, Gertrude S., A. and M. Fries, W. J. L., M.
E. Platt, J. Allen, Margie, J. P. Andersen, Jim and Topsy, A. B. C. D. J-. h., M. W. Langdon and M. D. Whittier, Ida and Dessie,
M. and B. Dixon, E. M., J. and L. Murdoch, J. G. S., E. A. S., and E. S., N. Clark, D. Haskell, A. Manchester, H. H. Cornell, N. D.
Sherman, W. H. Powell, C. M. Bradley, B. Brush, "Three Friends," H. H. Meeder, Friedrich, E. St. C. Whitney, L. Blockley, A. Mc-
Reynolds, E. T. Terry, C. Benton, O. O. Partridge, G. Sealey, A. H. Scott, C. Rogers, A. J. Wilcox, W. L. McConway, A. R. Anthony,
E. Abbott, T. Richards, E. May, P. S. Hall, M. M. Mathews, E. L Philips, M. Morse, E. H. Hudson, C. A. Kelley, L. Bolton, Ginger,"
C. Loeb, M. and F. Putnam, N. and R. Holbrook, H. G., M. G., H. H., and S. H., A. L. Shepard, "Several Readers," M. H. W. Sil-
vester, Ned R., Vineta," M. Barrie, King Arthur," M. C. Lamborn, H. W. Clark, F. D. Van Dien, E. K. Talboys, M. H. W., K. W.
Greene, H. H., C. H. Stutsman, M. C. M., A. L. Loving, J. H. Redfield, Jr., Queen Mab," Daisy H., Pawn," G. Stern, Marcus and
Ted, B. and M. Gillespie and E. Hubner, A. Belin, B. Casey, W. V. Pettit, Jr., H. Coleman, F. C. Weber, H. Hawthorne, L. Dale, M.
R. S. and S. W. S., E. R. Lamed, D. Miller, G. W. Cutler, Pyott Family, A. M. Sayre, W. M. Gardner, G. Atwater, C. Kuhn, A.
Crane, R. Nelson, B. M. Hartshorne, J. L. W., B. W. Pratt, H. L. and A. Johnson and S. Raynor, F. Orth, S. and C. Loewenstein, F.
A. Fairchild, L. Arms, A. L. Bidehman, C. R. Jones, A. S.Pier, M. L. W. B., B. Bell, W. and B., M. W. and A. A. Aubin, Am, May and
Eloise, T. K. Sturdevant, R. M. Abbott, G. Stanley, L. E. Bombard, E. A. Forbes, Cupid and Stupid, F. A. H. R. I. L., A. P. Wells,
R. H. Baker, S. W. Reed, J. M. C. and A. S. A., H. Swift, M. A. Daggett, I. J., J. and B. Brawner, S. C. DeFollett, F. W. E., B. Hickey,
H..H. Seaver, M. C. Maule, L. Packard, M. Watts, H. Foster, M. E. Plummer, E. A. C., C. Holding, J. M. Bullock, T. Leonard,
B. Cosgrove, F. B. Morey, "Nanki Poo," J. W. B. Young, L. M. D., Clara, K. Richards, E. Gregory, F. C. Hall, T1. Rhodes, C. L.
Smith, "Tiny Tim," P. F. Stevens, J. R. Slater, H. D. Slater, B. Magie, C. H. B., F. C. Clarke, "Alpha," E. Bond, M. W. B., L. M.
Barwood, E. C. Shearman, Jennie H., N. Krap, G. Wetherell, R. T. Leipold, George, Retta, and Frances, H. George, "Odin," H. C.
Stair, B. Carmichael, H. S. Arnold, H. F. Fish, E. and F. Green, M. E. M. and L. M. H., P. E. Braem, L. W. Bosworth, E. P. Collin,
A. C. Johnson, C. H. Thompson, R. Kelsey, C. C. Carpenter, L. Moses, E. R. Bassett, R. S. Bryant, G. K. Bell, H. Whltjen, J. C.
Vorce, N. Kelker, M. G. Fiero, "Toboggan," A. Burnham, J. Gilmore, A. G. Culver, B. Glover, M. Richmond, A. A. and C. K. Post,
F. M. Thomes, K. D. G., F. Gibb, G. Taintor, M. and E. Woodruff, L. A. Clark, M. Shirk, A. H. S., M. R. Saunders, O. H. Duncan,
C. M. C., S. T. Patton, G. A. Sulliva'n, P. Colby, W. S. Noble, E. Hall, W. C. P., E. R. Branson, E. McDermed, J. C. Drew, Nellie
and Reggie, A. L. Frost, S. LeR. K., Lillie and Walter, L. C. A., J. R. Thomas, L. Davidson, E. E. Hutchinson, W. M. Spalding,
M. T. S., M. Ailing, H. Williams, M. Mason, R. McCampbell, J. W. Motte, Jr., A. Strang, S. A. M., J. A. Norris, G. McCabe,
A. Whitney, A. M. Hovey, E. M. Wheeler, A. H. Rundlett, B. Harrison, R. F. Day, Mona and Enna, Fanny, Tom, and Helen, L. East-
man, F. Ellsworth, K. "''.. I...... n'd F. Innis, G. and H. Richards, B. and H. Read, A. S. Angell, T. Stanton, Nora and Alice, W.
Jackson, N. E. E., L. _-l -. 1 r ,.., Reader, M. Granger, E. T. Parmelee, W. B. A. and C. H. A., A. D. Smith, M. M. McL., No Name,
C. R. Macfarlane, E. A. Shockley, r'-e,-e ,,nd I., E. Hardee, G. M. W., Tricycliit, C. Belden, M. Hinds, El Coyote, H. M. Zebley,
J. C. Hanscom, E. M. Crane, T. 11. .. M. Hoyt, B. Hamilton, L. B. Audubon, J. W. Thompson, P. Mercer, "Peanuts,"
E. Morgan, A. Brooks, N. N. Wilson, R. Ware, J. M. Corning, Rachael, M. E. Whittier, B. and A. Fossard, M. L. Farwell, "St. Louis
Pansy," W. F. Moody, Jr., M. A. Coe, E. H. Jones, Dot Lee, C. C. Bridgman, B. Wheaton, M. A. Homer, M. Richards, M, and M.
Blanchard, Jo. Ruby, Mam ma, Nan, and I, R. L. Van Zandt, M. Du Roy, J. W. Lockett, K. Weeks, D. Conant and B. Colman, Buffett
and Bogert, M. Ely, Katherine, D. B. Foster, D. and R. K., S. and B. Rhodes, H. E. Smith, A. N. Brown, H. W. Baldwin, G. P. Fogg,
M. W. McNair, J. Howes, A. T. Bailey, I S. B., E. G. H., M. C. Baker, H. A. Homer, F. Tobey, B. H. Esterly, A. "1. 1.. M. and
B. Boude, C. O. T., A. C. Everett, A. A. Clark, G. De W., M. A., H. L. Barnes, H. M. Reynolds, H. B. R., Neill, i.-.' ," S. R.
Carter, E. Clark, R. S. Ferguson, B. Rhodes, M. M. G., C. H. E. Dunn, E. Barge, H. A. Hoadley, L. V..Waters, R. M. Thurston,
Mrs. W. H. Gardiner, H. Schoch, Mabel, B. B. Purdy, J. Dary, M. Q. Newcomb, M. L. Wynn, J. Phelps, W. Holliday, S. Douty,
D. C. Smith, Jr., R. T. Davis, Kittle and Nellie R. and Daisy K., R. Silvis, T. C. McLean,W. H. Trapp, H. Soun, W. Reynolds, Jr., O. M.
Wolff, M. Smith, Ira, R. E. H., L. G. Colton, F. Potter, "Blithedale," L. Jackson, P.'s and K.'s," A. Ross, Undine, G. W. Stoughton,
F. D. Wilde, M. Agnew, W. M. Dudley, E. L. Kilbourne. B. Christie and S. McCabe, A. W. B., V. M. Ring, M. Torrance, Two
Pussies," M. L. Armstrong, A. A. B., J. D. B., A. E. B., W. Scott, A. Quackenbos, E. Miller, Cecil, E. B. Neal, M. Connor, L. Whitson,
" Coon," A. C., S. C., and E. W. C., M. L. Shepard, Bruz," N. F. Brent, L. Little, L. S. K., Dutch," W. S. Beaumont, M. Wood,
T. S. Mosley, A. Auze, B. Aiken, F. L. Foshay, Vera W. B., L. M. Sprecher, F. Case, Mamie and Bess, W. M. Myers, A Quintett,"
M. F. Jacques, L. L. G., L. D. C., N. and M. Chater, R. Richards, E. J. L'Engle, A. F. Brewster, J. M. W., J. B. H. and M. G. B.,
Z. Leiand, K. L. Carlisle, W. M. Ruxg, L. V. F., E. L. Ray, E. W. Whittemore, M. Lankton, L. Pepoon, C. H. Henderson, M. Calder,
M. M. Bliss, W. M. Goodale, R. O. Howell, Nero," A. L. White, F. C. Ely, A. C. Moon, Stuart G., A. and E. Crowell, M. E W., C.
Richon M. H. Reid, Ruby, G. Kellogg, "Lotus," Wood Violet," E. Bamberger, L. C. Rogers, J. A. Wheat, V. and A. Myers, X. Y. Z.,
Samuel M., F. A. N., J. C. R. Taylor, L. A. F., W. M. and S. G. Small, M. de Ybarronds, E. S. White, M. W. Brown, H. C. B., A. R.
Tilden, A. Whitton, May and Fay, W. H. Townsend, L. Loutrel. J. Duffy, J. Berryman, Eva B., M. C. Myers, Elinor Louise, "Girls
of Ascension Hall," Billy and Papa McClintock, E. G. Rogers, M. Blake, A. G. Davis, C. F. Everdell, W. W. R., E. E. Denny, C. L. V. S,
L. F. McWhorter, L. H. S., E. L. Carpenter. C. C. F., J. B. F., Frank, R. A. Newlin, B. Jackson, W. Street, R. H. Hobart, J. B. Hub-
bard, J. R. B., M. Chanller, R. H. Bunker, W. Walden, M. A. Y., M B. Breed, S. C. C., W. J. McClure, F. L. Hamilton, N. Hammond,
F. Waterman, G. W. Allen, E. V. i ..1-. V. B. and I. M. Jacobs, A. Muldoon, Essie, F. R. Schoonmaker, Mrs. A. L. Ellis, "Ted,"
E. A. Miller, Wm. C. Krichbaum. '.' A Greene, F. M. Blizard, C. W., G. and J. Lamb, L. G. Dietrick, J. A. Reed, E. and M. St. John,
M. E. B., C. K. and G. K., C. Burbank, E. E., Doucy, M. L. Kleinschmidt, "Sunshine," L. Jones, Yum Yum. (To be conwtwed.)





TRIANGLE. From I to 8, May Queen; from 9 to 15, May-pole. A BIRD PUZZLE. I. Oil-bird. 2. Lyre-bird. 3. Butcher-bird.
Cross-words: i. M. 2. Am. 3. Yea. 4. Quay. 5. Usurp. 6. 4. Umbrella-bird. S. Cat-bird. 6. Honey-bird. 7. Cow-bird. 8.
Eskimo. 7. Eternal. 8. Nominate. Brush-bird. 9. Bell-bird. o1. Snake-bird. ir. Frigate-bird. 12.
AN ANAGRAMMATICAL PUZZLE. Facetiousness. Cedar-bird. 13. Thorn-bird. 14. Sun-bird. 15. King-bird. 16.
BEHEADINGS. Bartholdi. Cross-words: I. B-are. 2. A-cid. Weaver-bird. r7. Ant-bird. z8. Oven-bird. z9. Tailor-bird. 20.
3. R-ace. 4. T-our. 5. H-arm. 6. O-men. 7. L-ore. 8. D-ark. Locust-bird.
9. I-con. RHOMBOID. Across: I. Gyrate. 2. Easels. 3. Menace. 4.
CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Central letters, Early. Cross-words: i. Rotate. 5. Rental. 6. Stated.
dr-E-am. 2. se-A-ts. 3. bo-R-ne. 4. ho-L-ly. 5. mo-Y-le. COMBINATION PUZZLE. Across: I. i. New York. 2. Blood.
WORD-SQUARE. I. Heart. a. Eager. 3. Agree. 4. Reeds. 3. Cub. 4. N. 5. Ago. 6. Bream. 7. Parried II. a. K. 2. Ail.
5. Tress. 3. Annul. 4. Kindred. 5 Lurid. 6. Led. 7. D. III. i. D. 2.
STAR PUZZLE. From I to 2, demerit; I to 3, dentate; 2 to 3, Men. 3. Macaw. 4. Decreed. 5. Naeve. C. Wee. 7. D.
tactile; 4 to 5, memento; 4 to 6, maracan; 5 to 6, oration. IV. i. Nodular. 2. Polka. 3. Aye. 4. S. 5. Ask. 6. Fleet.
DOUBLE ACRosTIC. Primals, Philip; finals, Sydney. Cross- 7. Dissent.
words: i. Pleiades. 2. Honestly. 3. Inflamed. 4. Lengthen. HISTORICAL NUMERICAL ENIGMA. Ptolemy Philadelphus.
5. Impolite. 6. Pedantry. CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Cowslip.
To OUR PUZZLERS: In consequence of advancing the date of issue, hereafter answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must
be received not later than the i5th of each month. Answers should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY
Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New-York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March 20, from Arthur Gride-Maud E. Palmer-
Harry H. Meeder-Willie C. Serrell- "Agricolo"-" Z. Y. X."-Paul Reese-" Rowena "-Julia and Papa- Nellie B. and Elise
Ripley Russell Davis -" Betsy and Patsy"- Blanche and Fred -"Sam Anselmo"- Belle Murdock Winne D. Booth- Maggie T.
Turrill- Auntie, Jamie, and Mamma- Mary Ludlow--Nellie and Reggie-K. G. S.- M. E. d'A.-" Solomon Quill"-" Mab and
Jap "- R. B. Stone Mamma and Fanny-"Nero"- F. W. Islip.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March 20, from B. B. P., 2-"Humbug 0.," 3-Polly, 2-
Kathie Lee, H Hezekiah and Jedediah, 2- Crystal, 5 -" Fm MacCool," 5- W. W. B., Jr., Kate Bell, 2-" Patty Pan," 2-- Dick
and D.,3-"Maid Marjory," 6-"Castilian," 2-X. L.C. R., -L.H. L.andD. M., 7-R. V. 0.,7-MaryG. Wilbur, i-"Vaulx,"
Nashville, i -" Goose," -- Louise Tallant, i Ellie and Susie, 4- Marie and Jessie, i -C. E. Ruth, 7- C. F. M., 4 Mamma, Clara,
and Minnie, i Sadie and Bessie Rhodes, o--" Ayes," 4 -Effie K. Talboys, 9-" Ben Zeene," 3- Lotta Linthicum, a -J. W. and
L. L. Lloyd, ro-"Lehte," 1o-Isabel C. A., 5 Edward North, 3-"Professor and Co.," xx-"May and 79," 9--"Rose May-
bud," 9-" Sally Lumm" and "Johnny Cake," 9 -" Family Kid," 8-" Le Brecht," 1o-John G. Vogt, 4-" Bill Jones," x -N. L.
Howes, 1o-G. L. M., 3-" Blithedale," I--" Fanned," 1o-L. C. B., io-" Friends," o--"Juan and Juanita," i-" Prince
Karl," 2- Eleanor and Maude, 3- Nell R., 9 R. H. and M. P., 9- Original Puzzle Club, io- A. G. L., 6- B. Koehler, ao -
"Lock and Key," --H. H. C., i- H. D., 6-"Two Cousins," I No Name, Chicago, 6- Clare and Bessie, 9 Aurora, 2 Ber-
tha Bowers, i Harou, 3 Lee, i.


I. .. .

I. UPPER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: i. In mercy. a. Hurtful. 3.
Presages. 4. A plank used for supporting the earth in mines. 5.
An infidel. 6. Firm. 7. In mercy.
II. UPPER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: i. In mercy. 2. To com-
pute. 3. Five-sixths of a word meaning the outer part. 4. Mak-
ing red. 5. Covers for the hands. 6. Three-fourths of a word mean-
ing to venture. 4. In mercy.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: i. In mercy. 2. A boy's nickname.
3. One who drinks to excess. 4. Club-formed. 5. A white insol-
uble powder, discovered by Liebig. 6. The edge. 7. In mercy.
IV. LOWER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: i. In mercy. 2. A boy's
nickname. 3. The name of one of the royal families of England. 4.
A masculine name. 5. Virtuous. 6. Three-fourths of a small
stream. 7. In mercy.
V. LOWER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: x. In mercy. 2. A cup.
3. Five-sixths of a marsh. 4. Crookedness. 5. Merrily. 6. A pen.
7. In mercy. MARY LUDLOW.
x. BEHEAD to mix and leave to loan. 2. Behead an occurrence
and leave to utter. 3. Behead to correct and leave to repair. 4. Be-
head spotless and leave attenuated. 5. Behead the name of a poet

and leave a Hebrew measure. 6. Behead to run away and leave to
leap. 7. Behead a rambler and leave above.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a famous orator.
ACROSS: i. A disposition to deceive. 2. Errand. 3. A passage
in a church 4. To plunder. 5. One hundred. 6. Purpose. 7. To
frighten. 8. Defeating. 9. To turn into ridicule.
The central letters, reading downward, spell a partner.
i. IN temperate. 2. A border of lace Exhausts. 4. A charac-
ter in Mrs. entlivre's comedyof The Busybody." 5. To slander.
6. An old name for a large wooden vessel for holding water. 7. In
temperate. L. AND P.

5 6

3 ......

7 ... ...... 8
FROM I to 2, a city in Warwickshire, England; from 2 to 4, a long
Turkish dagger; 3 to 4, instruction given by way of caution; i to
3, a plant growing in the East Indies, the seeds of which are used
in medicine; 5 to 6, a musical instrument similar to the guitar; 6 to
8, the poison which comes from tobacco; 7 to 8, covered with a shell
made of plates; 5 to 7, a monument: I to 5, free from agitation; 2
to 6, a sailor's story; 4 to 8, a number; 3 to 7, to post.



I '-?

---- -- ,-I

6. IS:-

ii 'U. irl

ALL of the twelve objects may be described by words of equal length. When these have been rightly guessed, and placed one below
the other, one of the perpendicular rows of letters will spell two words which are always associated with a certain day in June.

DOUBLE RHOMBOID. is swift. My 98-44-71-16-3 is a mountain nymph. My 90-95-23-
4x-9 is partakes of a meal. My 74-i2-6-66 is a vegetable growth.
My 77-22-52-69-115 is having the qualities offish. My 31-25-7 is a
small fruit. My 19-1o8-72-5x is a cart used for heavy burdens.
THE letters indicated by stars are used in both rhomboids.
I. Left-hand rhomboid. Across: I. To close. 2. An opening. EXAMPLE: Take to have on from affirming solemnly and leave
3. Carriage. 4. A sacred vessel. Downward: i. In profit. 2. A to utter musically. Answer, S-wear-ing.
river of Europe. 3. A river of Europe. 4. Kind. 5. Anything i. Take a loud sound from removing a cause to a higher court and
small. 6. A conjunction. 7. In profit. leave mocking. 2. Take to presage from habitations and leave a
II. Right-hand rhomboid. Across: i. To impede. 2. Spoken. Roman weight. 3. Take a serpent from holding fast and leave to
3. To swagger. 4. An ancient city. Downward: I. In yeast. adhere. 4. Take a number from to intensify and leave a fowl. 5.
2. A preposition. 3. A sphere. 4. To separate. 5. A household Take beyond from treating with contempt and leave to throw. 6.
deity among the ancient Romans. 6. To proceed. 7. In yeast. Take a spike of corn from cut and leave a hut. GILBERT FORREST.

My first is.in cold, but not in heat;
My second in slow, but not in fleet;
My third is in broad, but not in slim;
My fourth is in stiff, but not in prim;
My fifth is in scratch, but not in rub;
My sixth is in cane, but not in club;
My seventh in grip, but not in clinch:
My whole is said to be good at a pinch.
I AM composed of one hundred and sixteen letters, and form four
lines of a famous poem.
My io6-8-96-38-57-47-64-I11-33-84 is sorcery. My 50-oo-io6-
88-67-17-76-26-1-28-82-39-62 is a killing. My 91-73-6-79-01-94is
a public speaker. My 24-85-49-78-o00-54 is a fenmiine name. My
8o-x1o-68-io3-59-86-o0 2 is a place mentioned in the Bible. My
14-70-42-37-65-46-35-93 is a respite. My 43-83-104-40-21 is a foe.
My 75-55-18-53-5-30-56 is a pagan. My 15-60-87-2-63 is an occur-
rence. My 2o-Ior-rI4-112-o09 is to frighten. My 97-29-81-13-45
is a bundle of stalks of grain. My 92-32-89-27 is a trailing plant.
My 4-107-105-36 is articles of merchandise. My 99-113-58-34-48

EACH of the eleven following groups of letters may be transposed
so as to form one word. When these eleven words are placed one
below another, in the order here given, the diagonals, beginning
with the first letter of the first word and ending with the last letter of
the last word, will spell two words often heard' at this season of the
year. The diagonals, beginning with the first letter of the second
word and ending with next to the last letterof the last word, will spell
two more words often heard on Decoration Day.
1. A R E U G I T H E M.
7. S 0 V I LA N B R A G.
10. NEXT I M I L L A I.
II. G R A M Y C 0 D T I E.



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